The Ocean Breathes Salty
by mykelara
Summary: Alec keeps coming back to her door for no good reason… until one day, he needs her help. Post S2 fic, set in the same AU as all my other stories. Same Alec, just a different point in time. There are references to the other stories as well as OCs. Eventual Alec/Ellie ;-)
1. Prologue - The Letters

**A/N:** This starts off a post S2 fic that I have been writing when the Sandbrook case was driving me nuts and I needed to escape somewhere ahead in the timeline. You might want to consider reading "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul" (which is nearing its completion) and my other shorter stories to get a better idea of where this version of Alec Hardy is coming from. There are some spoilers and cross references to most of my other writing and we'll encounter OCs that have been established earlier. It's all the same AU, same Alec, just at different points in his life. Hope you like it.

* * *

 **The Ocean Breathes Salty**

 _The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?  
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.  
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old.  
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I hope so._

 _\- Modest Mouse -_

* * *

 **Prologue – The Letters**

Jocelyn spotted him sitting on the wall looking out over the harbor. He was staring at the horizon, not noticing anything around him. She noted Ellie Miller a few hundred yards away, getting into Beth Latimer's car. She hesitated a moment, debating with herself, if she should approach him. He was engulfed in a cocoon of loneliness, looking more forlorn than usual. When she came closer, he was ran his hands over his face, wiping stealthily at his eyes. His body was still otherwise, not moving.

She had noted that he had missed a couple days in court, but was back for the final arguments and the final verdict. The color in his face had mildly improved from ashen to merely pale and he seemed to be a tad springier than before. He must have gotten his pacemaker then and contrary to his fears made it through. She smiled. Good for him.

There was something else though that had happened at court. After the jury's ridiculous verdict, he had dragged a woman out of the room who subsequently was taken away by uniformed police officers. She heard through the grapevine - bless the small town mentality, no secrets - that this arrest was related to the old case that was still haunting him. Remembering the picture he was carrying in his wallet, her curiosity was sufficiently tickled for her to walk up to him.

He startled when she sat down and started talking. "Hi there, how's the heart? I see you're still around."

His eyes were dark and had that feral quality she noted that night he came to her to make his will. He rubbed a spot right under his left collarbone.

"It's all right, I guess. Still getting used to it," he replied quietly.

She got the impression that _'getting used to it'_ meant more than just the actual pacemaker sitting in his chest. She put a hand on his arm. He flinched, but didn't pull away. She leaned closer, not wanting anybody else to hear.

"I'm sorry about Joe Miller. I failed you and everyone else." Her voice was somber, resonating with her dismay over the outcome of the trial.

He snorted. "It's not really your fault, is it now? If I had done my job correctly, this would not have happened again. If anyone failed this town, it's me." His self-loathe made his voice sharp.

"I couldn't run the investigation properly and I let Ellie beat up her husband, like I couldn't handle Sandbrook and let my wife lose the evidence. Error of judgement, you could put that on my grave," he sneered.

Jocelyn felt for him. This man was still just as broken as he had been before his surgery. But then why assume that fixing the physical ailment would fix the mind as well. He was staring out over the harbor again, showing no signs of any intention to continue the conversation. Maybe he simply wanted to be left alone. Or maybe he needed someone to break through that shell of his.

On a whim she asked, "Do you want those letters back, the ones you gave me in case you wouldn't make it through the surgery? Because you're still around, so maybe you would want to share them with the people they are intended for?"

His head snapped up. He opened his mouth to say something and then didn't. Instead he took in a deep breath, and buried his face in his shaking hands, trying to hide the sudden emotional outburst. She was taken by surprise, but was able to hide her reaction. She quickly looked around if anyone was watching and then put her arm around his shoulders, the other hand rubbing his arm.

"It's all right, it's all right. Sorry, didn't want to throw you off. Tell you what, why don't we go to my house and have tea and maybe some food. I bet you haven't eaten anything today, right?"

He pulled himself together, and nodded with his mouth open as he often did. "I think I'd like that," he admitted barely audible, more to himself than to her.

"Are you up for the walk up the hill?" She had no idea how much physical stress he could handle considering his underlying condition and recent surgery.

His lips curled up slightly. "I've walked this whole bloody town without the damn thing in my chest, I sure can do it with it." His defiance had an almost endearing quality to it.

She smiled back at him. "Right. And you also collapsed in the boat yard and in my house, so forgive me if I have my doubts."

"Why does everyone insist I'm an invalid?" She laughed at his pouting scowl.

She stood up and beckoned him to come along. "We'll take it slow."

And so they did. Hardy had to take several breaks, but he made it there. When he slumped down on her sofa, panting, he muttered under his breath, "Told you so."

She was rather stricken by how much his victorious and equally gorgeous smile transformed his face and made him look decades younger. Jocelyn was glad she hadn't left him behind.

* * *

Hardy sat on Jocelyn's sofa, panting. It had cost him a lot to walk all the way from the harbor up to her house, but he'd never admit it. His heart rate was up but not too much and there was no pain in his chest. He had no stamina from two years of inability to exert himself, but that was something he could work on. That part was easy.

Enjoying the small victory, he smiled and muttered, "Told you so."

Jocelyn smiled back at him. "Going to put on the kettle. How do you feel about having some soup or salad to start with and then maybe some pasta?"

Surprisingly, he was hungry. "Sounds fine. Thanks."

He leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the world. This day had sucked away whatever energy he had gathered after the pacemaker surgery. He felt drained, physically and emotionally. He had nothing left. Nothing to give and nothing to keep him going. Sorrow had filled in the burning anger that had driven him ever since he was lying next to Pippa's dead body at the bank of the river. It was threatening to overwhelm him like it had only a little while ago in the interrogation room.

"You all right?" Jocelyn's quiet question jerked him back into the real world.

He was about to utter his usual answer of being fine, when he stopped himself. Maybe it was time to try something different. If not now, then when? So he changed his tune.

"Dunno." That was all he could manage. Because he really didn't know. He had woken up after the surgery, but that didn't fix all the many things that were wrong in his life. It gave him a chance, but that was about it.

He looked at her puzzled expression, feeling equally confused. He rubbed the back of his head, casting his eyes downward.

"I see," she said with an amused tone. "Pacemaker didn't quite fix the broken heart then?"

He laughed. It was timid, something he wasn't used to any more. "No. Not quite."

She handed him a mug with tea. He eyed it suspiciously. "It's not by any chance decaf?"

"No, of course not. Wouldn't touch the stuff." She sounded rather disgusted. Then she realized what she'd said. Her expression changed, looking chagrined.

His lips curled up in a wry smile. "It's not that bad. You get used to it. No coffee or chocolate is worse actually." He put down the mug, gently. He was so used to having to turn down simple gestures of kindness without being able to explain why, forever offending the people around him, that this was rather refreshing. No more lies.

"I'm sorry. Should have thought of it. Got some chamomile tea somewhere, if you want." She made it sound even worse than the decaf.

He sniffed and scrunched up his nose. "Na, thanks though. For trying."

"Wanna come to the kitchen? Talk a little?" she invited him.

He stared at her as if she had made an indecent proposal. He couldn't even remember the last time someone asked him to talk, someone being genuinely interested. Even his conversations with Ellie were all revolving around the case or the trial, never more personal than that. At least not on his part, mostly because he didn't let it go there.

And all they did was bicker at each other anyway. Like an old married couple. He frowned. Where had that thought come from? He shook off the odd feeling coming with it and followed Jocelyn into the kitchen. He lingered at the door, unsure what to do, chewing on his bottom lip. She was rinsing off some lettuce.

"I could do that, I guess," he offered insecurely.

She cast a sideways glance at him. "Hm... at least you won't be able to break anything this time."

He huffed in exasperation. "I'll try my best not to disappoint expectations. Miller hated my salad. She didn't say anything, but I could tell, being a detective and such." He smiled shyly. This was almost funny, he thought.

She chuckled at his sorry attempt at a joke and handed him a bowl with cucumbers, tomatoes and carrots. "Let's see what you can do with those."

He shrugged and contently focused on this pleasantly normal task at hand. It was going well, until she asked him about the arrest at the court. His body tensed up and he cut himself. His blood was dripping onto the wooden board. At a loss of what to do, paralyzed by his emotions crashing down on him, he simply stared at his hand, vaguely aware of the pain.

"Jesus, Hardy, what is it with you and kitchens? Next time you're going to set fire to it, if I'd let you," she growled at him while she pressed a cloth against his maimed fingers.

"Maybe you shouldn't poke your nose into things that are none of your business," he snapped back at her.

"Touché." She didn't look at him while she inspected his fingers.

He sighed. He had accepted her invitation to talk so maybe he shouldn't be fussy then.

"The woman was my key witness in the Sandbrook case. Turns out she was way more than that."

She looked at him, clearly surprised. "How come you arrested her now after, what? Two years?"

He squirmed and moaned while she was washing the wounds, drying them and putting a few bandages on them. The cuts had been deeper than he thought. He contemplated his answer to the question. She made two years sound like quite a long time, and in the world of crime it probably was. In his world, it was an eternity, his former life farther away than ever. It hadn't taken two years to shatter everything though. One didn't need much to accomplish that. In the end, all that it took to destroy somebody's life is the briefest of moments and a few words.

' _It was Joe'_ – that was what he had said to make Ellie Miller's life go to shit.

' _But I don't love you anymore'_ – that was what Tess had said to make his life go to shit.

He realized that he had thought of Miller before he even thought of himself and his miserable existence. He wasn't surprised. Miller had become the only person in his life that resembled a friend. And contrary to common belief, he actually cared about his friends, or at least used to. If they let him, and Miller sure didn't. He would keep on trying though.

Jocelyn wasn't ready to give up yet. "So, was your reason to come to Broadchurch related to your old case? Because you made it clear last time we talked, it wasn't the ocean."

"Are you interrogating me now?" He eyed her suspiciously.

"No, Hardy, I'm not. I'm trying to make conversation with you, but I might as well talk to a wall. Are you always this difficult?" she sighed and let go of his hand.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter, looking down and studying his feet with undeserving interest.

"'M not difficult. Not my fault. If nobody wants to talk to you, you forget how to," he mumbled defiantly before he could stop himself.

Jocelyn voice was warm. "I want to. You can practice with me, if you like. Just don't be so defensive."

He snorted. "It's hard not to be defensive, if everyone thinks you're a fucked up failure and let a child murderer walk free. Twice now, to be precise."

She glared at him. His ears were turning hot and his cheeks followed.

"Sorry. I guess that didn't really qualify as not defensive," he conceded.

She smiled. "No, not really. But I'll let it go for now. You better sit down while I'll finish. Don't trust you to not make more of a mess."

He plopped on a kitchen chair. He placed his hands on the table and stared at them. And then he simply started to talk. About how he found Pippa. About Lisa who everybody always seemed to forget and who ended up being the key to everything. About the investigation and how everyone was playing games with him, even more so than he realized back then. About his wife's betrayal and how that almost killed him. How Claire manipulated him and how he had been too wounded and ill to fight her off. About his shit plan of keeping her under his control to lure out Lee. About the nightmares and the slow self-destruction. And about how Ellie Miller had saved him from drowning for good.

* * *

Jocelyn listened to everything, not interrupting, letting him talk. She had opened the floodgates and now it was all spilling out of him. He clearly had no recourse to holding back, now that he had started. She wondered if he'd ever spoken to someone about even part of this. She strongly suspected the answer was no.

She was horrified by the tale. And she felt sorry for all the lives that had been destroyed in the wake of this case. Not the least his. When he was finished, she sat down next to him, putting her hand on his. There was one question she needed to have an answer to. A question about the one thing that had really worried her when he had stayed that night.

"Do you still carry her picture around with you?"

And that was when he completely broke down, right there in front of her. He stared at her with dark and wild eyes. But only for a few heart beats. Then his face turned grey. A guttural sound escaped his throat. He buried his face in his trembling hands and cried, so hard he was gasping for air in between the sobs coming from deep inside him.

At first, she wasn't sure what to do. She hadn't quite expected a reaction like this. Remembering his first visit at her house, she worried, if his body was going to be able to take such an emotional outburst. Hoping the pacemaker had at least taken care of that part of his broken heart, she stood up and walked around the table to sit down next to him. She gently placed her hand on his back and started rubbing it in circles. She could feel his tense muscles and shuddering breaths.

Soothingly, she whispered in his ear, "It's all right, let it go. You're not alone. I'm here." If at all possible her words seemed to make him cry even harder.

She then knew what she needed to do. The only thing she would have wanted for herself if being faced with this kind of overwhelming anguish. She put her arm around his shaking shoulders and pulled him close. She expected him to resist but he didn't. He slumped against her chest, clinging on to her arms like a drowning person desperately holding on to the one thing that might save them. Eventually, after what seemed like a long time, his sobs slowed down, his breathing was more measured and the tears dried up. He didn't move for a few more minutes, before he started pulling away from her embrace.

"Better?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. His hair was sticking up in all directions and his eyes were red and puffy. There was snot on his nose, like a little child would have. She reached over to the paper towels and handed him one. He took it and tried to clean himself up a little, still sniffling.

"The bathroom is down the hall, second door to the right. Why don't you wash your face and I'll finish cooking." She gently nudged him towards the door. He wordlessly stood up and left the kitchen.

When he came back, he looked marginally better, his hair slicked back with water and no more tears and snot staining his face. He leaned against the door frame, hands shoved in his pockets.

"The answer is no. About the picture. I put it back with the file. The only one that I have now is Daisy's." His Scottish accent was strong and his voice gravelly from crying.

"Good." She didn't need to say more, they both knew what it meant to him. It was finally over.

* * *

Hardy felt rather awkward having lost control like that in front of Jocelyn. He sat back down at the table, not sure what to talk about now. His heart was lighter and slowly, very slowly he began to realize that the burden that had been weighing him down for the past two years might have been lifted from his shoulders. The one thing that had kept him going despite everything else.

It made him sick to think that his only reason to exist had been his questionable obsession with finding who killed Pippa and Lisa. When Tess told him to let the case go, she had no idea how much he really couldn't. Because if he had, nothing would have been left. His life was adrift, clinging on to the hope that he might get it right in the end.

Miller told him he did it, but that's not how it felt. Sure, it turned out that it was Lee who had murdered Pippa, but Hardy had missed basically everything else. It was Miller who figured it out. _God_ , she was brilliant. He smiled at the memory of her gorgeous face when Tess handed her the picture of the wood floor.

Tess had been wounded by how much he was in awe of Ellie Miller. She always had a hard time sharing his attention with someone else, even while she was shagging another man right under his nose. He never understood that odd twisted jealousy of hers and sometimes he wondered if his close relationship with Daisy was part of the reason why in the end he and Tess couldn't make it work. She couldn't share him with the one other important person in his life.

She'd said she loved him for taking the blame. How ironic was that? She loved him for something that he wouldn't have had to do in the first place, if she had loved him enough to begin with. Was it a mistake to tell her, he missed her? Because he did. He missed what they used to be, a family, a happy couple, companions and together in so many aspects of life. And then things changed and he didn't notice until it was too late. His desire of being able to go back in time, go back to being in this blissful state of not knowing what a pile of shit his future would be, was rather childish, but truth be told, he would give anything for it.

When he woke up from the surgery, astonished that he was still alive, his mind wasn't able to process all the overwhelming feelings. Miller was there, and it was wonderful that it was her grouchy face he woke up to, that it was her who he could tell that he made it through. Because if he could make it through, then she could as well, and things were going to be all right for her. And that's all he wanted.

She had called him a wanker and bickered at him and it was utterly enjoyable. Maybe the pain medication had something to do with that. Maybe not. He had been disappointed when she said she couldn't give him a ride back, but when she said it was because she was going to pick up Fred and Tom, he was very much happy for her.

And then Tess had barged in, taking possession over him as she used to do. He had seen Miller's skeptical expression, but sadly she still had left. He believed Tess that she was worried about him. Oddly enough, she began to worry more about him after he had found out about the affair. Maybe she had realized that he wasn't the only one who had been looking away. Or maybe she felt guilty that he basically died right after she told him.

' _Take me home,'_ he had asked her. Three words that meant so much more and so little at the same time. He didn't have a home to be taken to. It was long gone and he had never been able to find another one. And over time, he became more and more disconnected with life and people around him, lost in the all-encompassing solitude, especially after he was forced out of his job. He truly believed what he had said in the interrogation room, that ultimately they were all alone. Miller's attempt at consoling him had been kind. He very much wanted her to change his mind, but then she immediately left him behind to go pick up the pieces of her life, proving his point, that in the end, there wasn't really anybody for him any more.

He had to admit that he had grown close to her. He had let her in, more than anyone in the past two years. Others might not consider his awkward moves at comforting her or trying to support her throughout the trial as any passable form of friendship. Certainly dragging her into his personal nightmare didn't qualify as fun weekend activity, but to him it had been a big step. He wanted to be there for her, he just didn't know how. Especially as she didn't let him. Something that he understood more than anyone else in this town.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting at the kitchen table in utter silence, his thoughts wandering. He looked up from the spot that he had been staring at. Jocelyn was sitting opposite of him, watching. She was munching on her pasta and he realized there was a bowl in front of him as well.

"Eat," she ordered, pushing the bowl closer. He picked up the fork and started nibbling at the food. It was flavorful and for the first time in many months he was able to appreciate the comfort one can get from having a proper meal in company. They didn't talk much, until she asked him another loaded question.

"What are you going to do now? Are you going to stay?"

He stared at her, then dragged his hands over his face. Indeed, what the hell was he going to do now?

"Honestly, I have no fucking idea," he blurted out, his voice heavy with the distress that he felt over the non-existing answer.

Jocelyn raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything. She stood up and left the kitchen. When she came back, she had two familiar envelopes in her hand. She placed them carefully in front of him.

"How about you start with these? Share what's in those letters, don't just carry it around with you. Take the advice you gave me and tell those two what they mean to you. Make them part of your life," she encouraged him gently, placing a hand on his slumped shoulders.

He brushed the letters with his trembling fingers. He didn't think he would see them again. They were part of his life when he was sure he would die. Now things seemed to have changed. Possibly so, he didn't know. The sentiments expressed in his writing though, were still the same, even now that he survived the surgery. If anything they had grown stronger. He had spoken to his daughter, albeit only briefly, but it was a start. He folded Daisy's letter and put it in his shirt pocket, close to his heart. Then he picked up Ellie Miller's, holding it at each end, staring at her name printed in his best handwriting. Did he dare tell her? Tell her how much she meant to him, how much he appreciated what she had done for him? Was he ready to make that leap, to really put himself out there again to get hurt? Yet again, he didn't know.

Maybe it was time to come back from the river, where he had left so much behind, to take back that part of him that liked being around the people he cared for. Maybe he could start with a hug, he used to be good at that better than with words. One step at a time. He took Ellie's letter and placed it carefully next to Daisy's. He couldn't help but think that these two pieces of paper might do more to mend his broken heart than all the hardware that was hiding in his chest. He was smiling at the soppiness of the sentiment, when he was getting up.

"Thanks for dinner and..." He trailed off, struggling for the right words to express his gratitude further, but didn't quite know how to. He shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. He could feel himself blush with his awkwardness, which only made things worse. At least his bum heart seemed to drag along just fine.

* * *

Hardy awkwardly thanked her for having him over but didn't make any move to walk out of the kitchen, still leaning against the counter. Jocelyn sighed inwardly. Not for the first time, she wondered if he had been like this before his life fell apart.

She looked at the man in front of her. He blushed easily over his pale complexion. His gaze was fixed on his feet. His clothes were hanging loose on him and his shaggy hair fell into his face, almost covering those sad hazel eyes. It was puzzling how his body language made you want to run away and hug him at the same time. The latter won.

She quickly crossed the distance between them and put her arm around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly in a somewhat sideways hug. He stiffened up under her touch, but didn't move away. His eyes were darting back and forth, panicking. _Blimey_ , he really didn't know what to do with himself.

"For heaven's sake, would you relax already? You sobbed through my shirt and now you're being shy. One would think I'm doing something naughty to you. And I don't even fancy men," she sighed.

That earned her a wry smile. He eased up a bit and went as far as putting his arm around her shoulder, while they were both leaning against the counter, standing side by side. Eventually he spoke, voice soft and quiet.

"Thanks for inviting me to talk. It's been a while. That somebody wanted to listen." He paused and fumbled the letters in his shirt pocket. "And thanks for encouraging me to deliver these."

He tugged on her shoulder one last time before he pushed off the counter. When she watched him walk down the hill, shoulders straight and a bounce in his step, she smiled and knew she had made the right decision. He didn't need her any longer to take care of the letters. He had found the courage to do it himself.


	2. Chapter 1 - Bedraggled

**A/N:** This is an updated version of the chapter that was published in July 2015. "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul" – the story about how Alec's life was ripped apart during the Sandbrook case– has finally reached a point where I can continue this story without spoiling "A Million Holes" too much. All my stories are set in the same 'verse, same Alec, different times in his life. I have two disclaimers – please see at the end. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

* * *

 **The Ocean Breathes Salty**

 _The ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?  
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.  
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old.  
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I hope so._

 _\- Modest Mouse -_

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Bedraggled**

The first autumn storm was battering around the corners of the house. Lightning threw bizarre shadows through the window. Ellie stared at the play of light and dark on the ceiling, sleep eluding her once again. A small foot pressed against her leg and a whimper escaped the little boy who was curled up next to her in the bed. Scared of the noises of the night, Fred had come to her room and climbed under the covers to find protection from the monsters outside. It was nice to feel his warm body snuggled up next to hers, fighting off some of the loneliness that threatened to overcome her during these dark hours in the middle of the night.

She startled when there was a rapping noise at the door. The wind was howling louder and she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. She was about to drift off to sleep when she heard it again. This time it was unmistakable there. She sat up in bed, scared of her worst nightmare to have come true, Joe returning to Broadchurch. But he wouldn't knock, he would just come and take what he wanted.

She looked around for her phone, only to realize that she had left it downstairs in the kitchen. The knock was louder now and she was worried it would wake Tom. She carefully got out of bed as not to disturb Fred, wrapped herself in her dressing gown and quietly crept down the stairs. She could make out a dark figure through the glass window of the door, running his hands through his hair. There was a familiarity to the gesture.

 _For God's sake_ , it couldn't be him, could it? Not again. If it was, she was going to murder him. Maybe she could kick him in the chest and knock out his pacemaker, that'd do the trick.

She leaned against the door, but not opening it, and said, "If that's you Hardy, you're a dead man."

She heard a groan and then, "Stop wittering and open the door, Miller." And then after a few heart beats, "Please? I really need a place to stay." He sounded pathetic and Ellie didn't need to see his hazel eyes to know they would be wide and dark like a begging puppy's.

Her face scrunched up in annoyance, knowing she would regret this. Then, with a deep sigh, she opened the latch. There he was. Tall and even skinnier looking than normal because he was drenched to the bone, clothes soaked, sticking to his lean body. He was wearing his usual outfit, suit and mac, carrying a small hold all. His beard was scruffier than when she had seen him the last time and his wet shaggy hair was plastered to his head.

"Jesus, Hardy. What did you do? Why are you banging at my door in the middle of the night? During a storm. This is becoming a bad habit of yours. And why do you have a bag with you?" she immediately quizzed him.

He shuddered in the cold and swayed a little, bracing himself against the wall of the vestibule. The movement shone more light on his face and Ellie saw how pale he was.

"Can I come in, please? I really need to sit down or your wish of having a dead man on your door step is going to come true much quicker than you can blink," he said weakly, voice devoid of the usual sarcasm that would have accompanied his words.

He was now leaning against the wall, barely able to keep himself upright. His eyes fell shut and his face twitched in pain. The frightening memory of Briar Cliff jumpstarted Ellie into action.

"Ach, for heaven's sake, come on in then. You're unbelievable." She snatched the bag away from him and stepped out of the doorway to let him through. He didn't move and his eyes remained closed, breathing heavily. Ellie dropped the bag and tugged on his coat.

"Let me get that off you. You're soaked." She was hoping that would get him going because she realized she had to get him out of the cold into her house or this would indeed not end well.

When he still didn't move, shivering and teeth chattering, she whacked him gingerly on the arm.

"Oi, why'd you do tha'?" He slurred his words, but at least his eyes were open.

"I know, should have slapped you in the face, you bloody idiot." She took him by the elbow and steadied him, her hand on his chest. He was taller than her and it was hard to keep him balanced. He pulled himself together and they made it into the living room where he collapsed onto the sofa. His body was shaking with the cold.

"You have to get those wet clothes of you. This time, I'm not undressing you, so you better do that yourself. I'm going to make tea." She nodded sternly at him, arms crossed in front of her chest. He briefly opened his eyes and mouthed "all right" before closing them again. A small smile flitted over her face. At least this time he was only soaked and not covered in vomit.

When she came back with two cups of tea, there was a heap of wet clothes bunched up in front of the sofa and a heap of softly snoring Alec Hardy curled up on it. He was wearing nothing but his underwear and the red angry scar of the pacemaker surgery was the only thing on him that wasn't white as a ghost.

Ellie raised her eyebrows. _Wanker._ Now she would have to have extra therapy sessions to erase the image of a basically naked Scot sleeping on her family sofa. She sighed and grabbed a blanket to throw it over him. She briefly felt his pulse at his wrist. It was oddly slow but steady enough. Gently, she brushed the wet hair out of his face.

Then she grabbed his clothes, emptied out the pockets with the intention of throwing them in the dryer. She found his pills, his glasses, his wallet, and his phone and placed them next to him on the coffee table. After taking care of the clothes, she got a glass of water from the kitchen and brought it back to the living room.

Remembering one of his other unannounced appearances on her door step, where in a rare moment of opening up, he had told her how easily his heart could get set off by being startled, especially out of sleep, she put the glass next to his pills. Better be ready to take his medication then, regardless of the pacemaker. She tucked in a second blanket, hoping that would help him to warm up.

He stirred and his eyes fluttered open. They darted around and Ellie saw the panic rising in them.

"It's all right, you're at my house, Alec. Go back to sleep," she soothed him in the same tone she used to comfort wee Fred when he had a nightmare.

His gaze focused on her and he relaxed. He mumbled, "Thanks, Miller," and fell back asleep.

Ellie sighed again. At least he had thanked her. _Knob._ Her eyes rested on the sleeping man that the storm had washed in and had the distinct feeling she might regret letting him literally crash on her sofa. This very much smelled like one of his shit plans and in the morning in all likelihood he would tell her half the truth, insult her and then drag her into some ridiculous scheme.

Surprisingly, she didn't mind.

* * *

She woke to the scent of coffee, toast and eggs drifting through the house. She didn't stir, trying to shove away the memories of happier times where she still had a husband who would make her breakfast on the weekends. Before he went on to murder the eleven year old best friend of his son. Ellie sat up, pressing the heels of her hands onto her eyes. This wasn't productive thinking. She had to move on and she was going to.

Fred was gone from the bed. Ellie frowned. It was unusual for the little boy to venture out by himself without waking his mother. She put on sweatpants and a sweater to fight off the chill of the early morning. It wasn't even 7 A.M. yet. When she came out to the landing she heard muffled voices downstairs.

 _Christ._ She had forgotten all about Hardy. What if Tom had found the man who arrested his father sleeping half naked on her sofa? The same man whom she was accused of having an affair with. The man who had been showing up at their house randomly for no other good reason than needing a place to stay. The man that Tom had been so upset about finding in his mother's bed one morning. She and Tom barely talked anyway, this could ruin any progress they had made.

The morning chill was all gone by the time she reached the kitchen, replaced by hot anger at her former boss. She didn't want to lose her temper in front of her children though, so she paused a moment before barging into the kitchen. She heard a slapping sound and then a muffled yelp.

"Oi, wee Fred, you sure have much better aim than your mother. You should tell her you hit me in the face with your spoon. She would be proud of you."

Hardy chuckled and Fred squealed and banged his spoon against something else.

"Alec! Eggs!"

"Fine. But this time eat them, because I'm already in trouble for showing up in the middle of the night. Don't want to think about the things your mother probably wants to do to me. No need to add you making a mess out of breakfast to the list of my shortcomings." His voice was warm and lighter than she'd ever heard it.

Hardy was talking. Of his own accord. More than two words. _With Fred_. In fact he was _joking around_ with Fred. And he had _chuckled._ It still surprised her every time it happened, even after it had become clear how fond Fred had grown of Hardy. And Hardy of Fred.

Ellie didn't know what she found more disconcerting though – the pale, exhausted and drenched man who had knocked at her door last night or the babysitting, giggling, breakfast making man in her kitchen. She opted for the latter.

She finally opened the door and was equally dumbfounded at the picture like she was last night, but for a very different reason. Fred was sitting on Hardy's lap, eggs smeared all over his face and Hardy's beard. The floor was a mess and Hardy had been rummaging about in the cabinets and drawers to find what he needed. One would think he'd knew his way around by now, considering how often he had wreaked havoc in that kitchen.

"Mummy! Alec! Eggs!" Fred's enthusiasm was ringing in his voice. He jumped of Hardy's legs and ran over to her, wrapping his tiny arms around her. He wiped his egg stained cheeks on her sweatpants, leaving long grease smudges on the dark fabric.

Hardy looked up at her and gave her a shy smile. _Oh God, he didn't just do that?_ That was still not how it worked between them, regardless of how close they'd become.

"'M sorry for the mess. I'll clean up after me and Fred. Forgot how fast those little devils can be with a spoon and their hands." He rubbed the back of his head and sighed, "It's been a while."

He got up and walked over to the counter. He poured some coffee, put milk and two small spoons of sugar in it, and handed her the mug. He scratched his eye brows, rubbed the back of his head and then perched on the kitchen table, tapping his fingers on the edge. Ellie was keeping track. Soon he would run out of his nervous gestures. She could almost predict that he would shove his hands into his pockets next. There. She grinned. And he frowned, having no idea why she reacted that way.

Fred had climbed back onto his chair and was happily eating the remainder of his scrambled eggs. Hardy absentmindedly pushed his chair into a better position and placed the plate closer to him. He was wrong, Ellie thought, he had not forgotten. She took a sip of her coffee to hide another grin. It was just as she liked it.

"Are you going to say something? It freaks me out if you don't talk, you know." The edge was back in his voice.

She noted that he didn't have a mug. "Still not drinking coffee then, ey?" she finally spoke.

He shrugged. "Can't. Tried it though, didn't go so well. Almost passed out in the coffee shop. Daisy was furious." He studied his feet, not looking at her, ears red.

She laughed. "You would do that, wouldn't you? Did they finally clear you for driving? You mentioned it last time you came round." She put her mug down and opened one of the cabinets.

He shook his head, making a disgruntled face. "No. That's why I walked from the train station last night. They think maybe another three months or so. If nothing else happens." He sounded defeated and Ellie's ears perked up. He'd been doing well, surprising her on his last visit a few weeks ago with how healthy he had appeared.

While she put the kettle on, she took a closer look at him. He was wearing sweatpants and a grey T-shirt, hanging loosely of his still too skinny frame. His face looked more haggard since she had seen him last. Whatever weight had filled out his gaunt cheeks was gone and the dark circles under his eyes had found their way back. She frowned, worrying what had brought upon this change and what had driven him to walk through the storm, freezing his sorry arse off.

More defiantly, he added, "Can't lie to them because the thing…" - he rubbed the small bump where the pacemaker was sitting under his skin - "... tells them if I had an episode. They can even log in remotely. Not that they needed to anyway."

Ellie scrunched up her nose and put a mug with herbal tea in front of Hardy. "Ugh, that sounds freaky. Big brother is watching you, Alec Hardy. Can't run." She giggled, but stopped immediately when she saw his face.

He was even paler if that was at all possible, eyes wide and scared. "That's kinda what I'm doing. Running." His voice trembled the tiniest bit. "That's why came, 'cause I'm in trouble, Ellie."

Ellie slowly sat down at the kitchen table. Her frown had grown into a big furrow between her eyes. She had no idea what kind of horseshit his life was throwing at him now, but she had a good idea what it would do to whatever little stability she had regained. Every time this man walked into her life, things started falling apart. He seemed to attract disaster like no other human being she knew.

He was still leaning against the counter, knuckles turning white under his tight grasp. His chest was heaving with his deep breaths, and just like last night, his eyes started to close until he flinched in pain and they jerked open. He rubbed his chest and wobbly plopped down on the closest chair, almost missing it.

From experience and what he had told her, she knew that the ICD in his pacemaker must have fired. He was sitting sideways on the chair, slumping over its back and the table alike. His head hung down and his eyes remained closed. Worried, she reached over to feel for his pulse again. He tried to swat her away.

"'M fine," he mumbled.

She huffed and grabbed his wrist. His pulse was as slow as it had been the night before and so steady. It didn't only feel unnatural, but in fact it was. The artificial rhythm of the life-saving device nestled under his collarbone kept him on track, much to her relief.

"Would you care to explain what the hell is going on? Your pacemaker went off twice in half a day and you look like something the cat wouldn't even drag in. What kind of shit plan have you gotten yourself into this time?" Ellie was indignant, more so out of concern than anything else.

He scrubbed down his face with his hands and finally looked Ellie into the eyes. "Erm, I might have left Sandbrook to escape being arrested."

Ellie's mouth gaped open. "Arrested? What for?" Incredulity was making her voice shrill.

She could imagine a lot of things about Alec Hardy but being on the run from the law was not one of them.

"Attempted murder of my ex-wife." His voice was strained and hollow.

"What the fuck, Hardy?" Ellie jumped up from her seat, bumping the table and knocking over her mug. The hot liquid spilled into Hardy's lap. He winced and clambered to his feet, padding at his soaked shirt and pants.

" _Shitshitshit_!" She frantically tried to wipe up the coffee that was running over the table.

"Miller, calm down," he urged quietly. He put a hand on her arm, gesturing towards Fred with his head tilted. The little boy was looking at them with wide eyes, mouth pulled down, and ready to cry.

Hardy stooped down and smiled at Fred. "Look, what your silly mum did? She made more of a mess than we. Mummy's gonna be on the naughty list, ey?" He poked the toddler's nose with his long index finger and made a funny face at him. Fred giggled and slid of the chair.

"Go see Tom?" he asked pointing to the door.

"Sure wee Fred, go and find him" Hardy smiled and ruffled the boys hair. Fred toddled away on his quest to find his big brother.

If Hardy hadn't just told her that he was hiding in her house from being arrested for attempted murder of his ex-wife, this would have been a rather adorable scene to watch.

When he turned to face her, his smile was gone. "I should leave. I shouldn't have come here. You've got the kids, don't know what I was thinking," he said, his voice carrying a subdued tone.

He shoved his hands in his pockets again. His head was tucked in and he pressed his lips into a thin line. He looked utterly miserable even for his standards. Ellie sighed. Why did he always have to look so forlorn when he was in trouble? She walked over to him, taking his elbow and pulling him down on the chair again.

"Explain to me why I shouldn't just arrest you myself right here and now." She sat down, arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised.

"Because I didn't do it. And because there isn't an arrest warrant out on me. Yet," he added rather dismayed.

"What the hell did you do, Hardy? Is Tess all right?" Ellie was concerned, even if she didn't like the woman very much.

His fingers trembled when he clasped them on the table. "She's better now. Was in a coma for a week or so. Medically induced..." he trailed off, voice breaking up.

"Jesus, I'm sorry. What happened?" Ellie was shocked. This wasn't at all what she had expected when he showed up at her doorstep last night. It certainly explained his state though. And why he hadn't answered any of her calls and only sent her a few cryptic text messages, apologizing he'd been distracted. There was a twinge of disappointment that Ellie couldn't ignore. She really wanted him to share what had been going on in his life. He had been working on mending the relationship with his daughter for the past months which had resulted in a few run-ins with Tess. But this was different. This was serious.

It took him a few minutes to compose himself enough to talk. "She had a bad car accident. Head injury, several fractures, and a ruptured spleen. She almost died..." He had to pause, face resting in his palms.

His breathing was getting more ragged and Ellie got worried. When he had finally opened up to her about his _'condition'_ , his confession about how much damage his stubborn procrastination had done had left her rattled. His recovery had been going reasonably well after his surgery a few months ago, but there was always that lingering awareness how fragile he really was. He was by no means a healthy man.

Eventually, he continued, voice hollow. "Things didn't quite make sense to the traffic police and they opened an investigation." He sucked in a breath through his nose. "The car had been tampered with. Once they looked, they found it very easily. Almost as if there was no pretense to hide it."

Ellie's thoughts were racing. Could there be any truth to the claim that Hardy would try to injure his ex-wife? He was a passionate individual and could be very single minded about things. But harm the mother of his beloved child? After he basically killed himself over protecting her for the grave mistake she made? That seemed highly unlikely.

"Why do they think it was you?" Ellie felt herself slipping into interrogation mode. And so did Hardy. He stiffened in his chair.

"It's all right, Miller. We don't have to do this. You just got your job back. Can't jeopardize it. I'll get my clothes and I'll be out of your way." He pushed himself to his feet.

"Sit down, you bloody idiot!" Her voice was sharp. She was surprised that he actually listened and slumped down on the chair again. She had been so used to taking orders from him that the other way round seemed almost wrong.

"Answer my question and then I'll decide if you should leave or not," she prompted. She watched him carefully, expression and body language alike. They knew each other so well by now that he possibly could deceive her. Don't trust, his words.

He nodded, mouth slightly open, and took in another deep breath. "Because it wasn't her car. What I mean is that it used to be mine. I gave it to her as part of the child support. It was supposed to be for Daisy's 16th birthday in the spring. They argued although it was for my daughter, I knew that Tess would be driving it until Daisy's old enough. I supposedly tampered with it so that she would get in an accident."

Ellie grunted. "What? Have you listened to yourself? That's utterly ridiculous. You of all people would never do anything that could even remotely hurt Daisy. What if she'd been in that car? Anybody in that police department should know better than that. And what would be your motive anyway?"

Hardy shrugged. "Dunno. Revenge? Jealousy? Just simply not liking her? I have no bloody idea, Millah." His exasperation emphasized his Scottish accent, slurring her last name. He ran his hands through his hair. Maybe he felt like pulling it out, Ellie couldn't blame him.

"That's not enough for an arrest warrant and you know that. Do they have any evidence?" It occurred to Ellie that he might not tell her the full truth, something he had a bad habit of doing so repeatedly. And it never had led to anything good.

He was barely audible, when he confessed, "My fingerprints are all over the car. They are under the hood because I had checked the oil before giving the car to Tess and helped putting in some washer fluid recently. Supposedly they found proof that I ordered books about car mechanics online. I didn't do any such thing. I hardly know how to use Google, certainly don't do online shopping. But it was my credit card and they found the books in my flat. I have no idea how they got there. There was a witness at some car shop who claims I came to get some tools and asked specific questions about the brake mechanism. I don't even know where that place is…" he trailed off, desperation growing.

She didn't say anything, taking in the information. She could see how that would make investigators suspicious. But there was still the question as to why. Claire Ripley's statement of how she'd gotten into the possession of the pendant was part of the official case record now. Most people at the South Mercia Constabulary knew that Hardy had taken the fall for his then wife, something that almost killed him. Why would he be after her now? Something was nagging her.

"Alec, that argument you had with Tess, the one you mentioned last time you were here – was that in public?" she inquired neutrally.

He chewed his lower lip and stared out the window. "Aye. It was. It got rather ugly."

"Anything physical?" Ellie probed carefully. She didn't want to offend him and he hadn't said so before, but now she wondered. She had seen them together and Tess's contempt for her former husband was apparent. He had admitted to her that Tess once or twice had hit him while arguing, a fact he was rather embarrassed about. He had only shared in a desperate attempt at comforting Ellie. She had been so distraught over Joe's hidden violent nature and how she could have not known when even some random work colleague of his had been aware of it that Hardy confessed to something he would have never wanted anyone to know.

Hardy nodded, not looking at her.

"You or her? Where there any witnesses?"

"She was furious with me for telling Daisy the truth about the circumstances when the pendant disappeared. Daisy refused to talk to her, as a matter of fact she didn't talk much to me either. Tess accosted me in front of my building. She yelled at me and then she started knocking me about." He swallowed hard and stayed quiet, squirming on his seat.

It was apparent that he really didn't want to talk about it. "Out with it Hardy, I need to know," Ellie snapped at him. It couldn't be helped. There was no room for privacy needs right now.

"She pushed me, hitting against my chest. It wasn't even that hard, but I can't let that happen. Especially not now. Not after I finally went through with all of this." He rubbed his sternum and Ellie was sure he wasn't aware of the gesture.

"I caught her arms to make her stop and pushed her away from me. She bumped against the wall and that's when people started paying attention. Of course they didn't see everything that happened. Tess didn't care. She wasn't hurt. She realized that she had been too rough and apologized after. But people still think what they want to think." He sounded so defeated, it tugged on Ellie's heart.

For the first time since they started the conversation his gaze found hers. His eyes were glittering with tears and she couldn't help but think there were no lies. Not any more.

"Please, Ellie. I didn't try to murder my ex-wife. _You've got to believe me_ ," he was pleading desperately with her.

Softly, she replied, "I do, Alec."

He stared at her for a few heartbeats and then buried his face in his hands, sobbing with relief. While she gently drew circles on his back, he mumbled something that Ellie vaguely identified as 'thank you'. She sighed at the realization that it was her turn to come up with a shit plan how to prove Alec Hardy's innocence.

* * *

 **A/N:** As for my two disclaimers…

First and foremost, "No more broken heart" and Alec's sudden recovery after the pacemaker surgery never really sat right with me, it was simply that – too sudden. Part of this story is Alec's struggle with finding his way back to a more healthy mind and body, something that can't happen overnight after two years of misery.

Secondly, for those who haven't read "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul" – a lot of Alec's background story before coming to Broadchurch is hidden in there together with my take on Alec's heart condition. In the upcoming chapters there will be references to events and OCs established in those stories. So, some of you might be interested in reading them, even if they are clearly not Alec/Ellie ;-) but there is a lot of Alec & Daisy in there which might make up for that. Also, there are several shorter stories set during S1 & S2 and in between which might give a fuller picture of this version of Alec and Ellie.

Thanks everyone for reading! Comments are always welcome.


	3. Chapter 2 - The Short Goodbye

**A/N:** Thank you all for reading and commenting. This chapter is a revised from the version published in July 2015. It is dedicated to HAZELMIST because she's amazing and I don't know what I would do without her. One word … there are OCs in this story that have been established in "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul" … and as it's the same Alec just at another point in his life, those people play an important role. See note at the end as well.

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - The Short Goodbye**

 _A few months earlier…_

It was raining and the drops drummed rhythmically on the roof of his blue shack. It wasn't going to be his for very much longer though, joining the ever growing list of things that had vanished from his life. A life that was now filled with sorrow, loss and regrets more than anything, not giving him much to look forward to. Looking back was equally disheartening. Joe Miller's trial was over and had ended in yet another failure of his. The solution to the Sandbrook murders which he had longed for such a long time had left him with nothing but emptiness.

It wasn't that a burden hadn't been lifted. No, closure had been reached, and he hoped with all of his heart that this time they had enough to send them all off to prison, but it had not brought him absolution. His penance might be done, but what else was left? Now that it was all said and done and the insane pace of the past days had slowed down, he had to face the ruins of his life that he had been running from.

Not for the first time, his uncertain future was raising anxiety in him. A future that he had never even imagined as he had been so sure he wouldn't survive the operation. He snorted and listlessly kicked the wall with his foot. He seriously needed to stop basing his life choices upon the belief that he was going to die soon and it wouldn't matter. Look where that had left him? Estranged from his daughter who still thought of him as a lying cheating failure, shunned by most of his colleagues, and so isolated from anyone he ever cared about that it was killing him.

He sighed and turned away from staring out over the river. The heavy drops fell onto the water and left a million little craters on the surface. It reminded him way too much of the day he had pulled Pippa Gillespie out of a different stream swollen with a downpour. He perched on the small table under the window and let his gaze rest on the wall of his living room. Ellie Miller had turned it into a canvas of what he sometimes felt was his life's work. It was a sad display if that was all that was left. He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the ache from the surgery.

He still marveled at the fact that he had actually made it through. The doctors had told him afterwards, his heart had arrested as expected, but that contrary to all their worries they had had a fairly easy time getting him back. No need for prolonged chest compressions, no broken ribs, no concern for what the lack of blood flow would do to his brain. That was new for him. All the other moments where life had left him had not been as straightforward. Maybe things could change after all. It was hard to believe after having been stuck in this perpetual cycle of guilt, loneliness, and seeing nothing beyond that.

He stood up slowly, enjoying the fact that he wasn't immediately dizzy, something he didn't take for granted any more. He stepped up to the wall and brushed his fingers over Pippa's picture. Last night she hadn't come to haunt him. For the first time in months, years. He still had dreamed of drowning, but she wasn't there. And when he woke, he was crying but not because of the anguish that usually accompanied those moments, but because of relief and the small hope that both of them might find some rest now.

One by one he took all the notes, pieces of paper and pictures off the wall. Now and then, his eye lingered on some of Miller's writing or his own scribbled words, comparing what they had both gathered. It was painful proof of his obsession, what had driven him over the past two years, but just as much evidence of his failure and Miller's brilliance. When he took down a picture of Lisa and Pippa, a close up of them, smiling and happy, his emotions were almost too raw to handle. Yet again, he brushed his trembling fingers over the photograph. His throat was choked up and his eyes were burning, but he had no more tears left. He gently put the picture in the box, making sure it wouldn't get crumpled up. The last thing to go was the map of Sandbrook, the place that had been his home for almost a decade. Where some of the best things of his life had happened and certainly the worst. Where his daughter was. His long fingers gingerly peeled the corners off the wall and started folding the map.

His thoughts from after he had cried on Jocelyn's shoulder resurfaced. Maybe it was time to go back. To go back and reclaim what the river had taken from him. To be part of life again and not only live like he wasn't invited to the party because he'd have to leave soon anyway. He slowly put the map on top of the pile in the box. Then he closed the lid. He looked up and sniveled. It was done.

It didn't fill him with pride nor pleasure nor a feeling of accomplishment. All it left was a gaping hole in his soul that used to be taken up by anger and now was empty. In a way, he was more adrift than he had been before, lacking a direction and goal. At least there had been _something_ , even if it had not been healthy. A pull on his left shoulder when he lifted the box reminded him that now there was more than just detrimental obsession to keep him going. There was something new that he didn't have before. A chance. To survive his debilitating heart condition and to heal the physical and emotional damage these past two years had done to him. He wasn't sure if he had enough strength in him to do so, but he sure was stubborn enough to not give up.

He ended up where he had begun, staring out into the rain. No more running. It was time to face his demons. All of them. The river, his health, Tess, Daisy, the truth about what happened in their marriage. If these months alone had taught him one thing, it was how fragile life was and that one should not waste any time. He had lost so much and it was up to him to get it back. His hand rested over his shirt pocket where Daisy's and Ellie's letters were tucked in safely. Jocelyn had said to make a start with letting people back in and he intended to do so.

His phone buzzed on the table. When he saw the caller ID, he sat down and stared at it until it went to voicemail like a dozen times before. Then he picked up the handset. Chewing his lower lip, he made a decision. Why not start there? His friend and former boss Ed Baxter had faithfully called him over and over again, never giving up albeit Hardy stubbornly ignoring him.

He had last seen him after his hospital stay this past Christmas. Baxter had made him stay at his house until they both felt sufficiently reassured Hardy would be all right by himself. It wasn't something they agreed upon easily. Baxter didn't let Hardy leave until they had the pacemaker placement scheduled, allowing for ample recovery time after his hospitalization, but also for Joe Miller's plea date to happen before the set day. Of course that ended up in a total mess. But he had kept the appointment and did not reschedule, for once keeping a promise he had made.

He unlocked his screen reluctantly. Dialing the number, he got up and began to nervously pace about. Habitually, his left hand planted itself firmly on his hip, causing a twinge to run down his arm and side. A exasperated curse crawled over his lips. Stubbornly, he ignored the pain. He hated the fact that he couldn't use the phone on the left side. Not that he had paid that much attention to it before the surgery, but now that it wasn't allowed it irked him. It rang a few times until Baxter finally picked up.

"Alec?" came the incredulous question and when Hardy didn't say anything Baxter followed with a concerned "Are you all right?"

Hearing the familiar voice of one of his oldest and best friends was overwhelming. He had to sit down and take in some calming breaths. He was bracing himself for his heart to skip beats, but it didn't happen. The artificial rhythm imposed on his dodgy ticker by the pacemaker kept him on track. The doctors weren't taking any chances until he had recovered somewhat, so they had set it to take over mostly, regardless of how well his heart could do on its own. Despite the faster pace giving him more energy, it wasn't his own and he had a hard time getting used to it, especially at night.

"Alec, are you there? You didn't call me for the first time in months and then pass out on me, did you?" There was worry hidden beneath the sarcasm.

Hardy inhaled deeply, struggling with his feelings. "No, Ed. I didn't. I've got the bloody pacemaker now and that's not supposed to happen any more."

There was a long pause on the other end. It was Hardy's turn to wonder if Baxter was still there or not. Eventually he heard him suck in some air, just as he had done moments ago. He guessed he wasn't the only one who was emotional.

"So you finally went through with it then? Did you tell Emily Abbott yet?" Baxter asked quietly.

Hardy huffed. "Ed, it only happened a few days ago. I've been sorta busy since then."

"Yes, so I heard." Baxter hesitated and then blurted out, "Alec, when are you coming back to Sandbrook? You're done there now. Come home and don't be alone any more. It's not good for you. Please?" Hardy had never heard Baxter plead that much with him and it took him utterly by surprise. It also touched a chord somewhere deep inside.

"Home? Where is that even? I haven't had a home since Tess destroyed mine." There was much more bitterness in his voice than he had intended to.

"You always have a place with us, Alec. You're not as alone as you think you are," Baxter replied softly, his underlying fondness shining through.

Miller had said the same and then left him behind on that stupid wall. Going off to be with her friends. Deserting him when he would have needed her. Why was he so angry about that? It wasn't like they were that close. _Right,_ who was he lying to? She had been the one person he could count on. The one positive thing in his miserable life. Absentmindedly, he fumbled the letter he had written for her.

"So, are you staying down there then? What about Daisy? Tess said you guys had dinner together a while ago. That's a change, right?" He knew Baxter too well. He was trying to cheer him up.

"Ed, you don't have to do this," Hardy sighed into the phone. "My life's been a pile of shit and it's my own doing. I don't even know where to start fixing things. Daisy hadn't talked to me for over a year, Ed, until that dinner and I haven't spoken to her since. She still ignores my calls." Yet again more bitterness.

Baxter made a humming noise. "I take it you two still haven't told her yet." Hardy's silence was enough of an answer. "Alec, you need to tell her. The story will be dragged out in the open now again and this is your chance at putting things right. She deserves to know the truth. _You_ deserve that she knows the truth. After all this time that you spent hiding and running from something you didn't do, it's time to stop." Baxter was firm.

Hardy's chest felt tight. He knew he couldn't blame it on his heart because that was obediently trudging along, held to a new standard by the metal device under his collar bone. No more excuses. There was nothing but true heartache left.

"Maybe I should," he mumbled into the phone. There was a sigh of relief and then Baxter switched into his default mode to tackle all life problems - pragmatism.

"That took you long enough. Listen, I understand that you might not want to come back here right away." Baxter paused, gathering momentum to arrive at the most practical approach. Hardy grinned. He had to admit, he had missed him.

"As I said, you always have a place to stay with us if you want to. But how about visiting Duncan? I'm sure he'd be thrilled to have a fellow Scot to commiserate with while he's stuck in Cardiff. And a little bird called Emma has told me that his eldest son Cory and Daisy are actually friends. Good friends, if you know what I mean." Hardy could practically hear the twinkle in Baxter's eyes.

He sat up straight and frowned. "What do you mean by _'good friends'_?" he asked suspiciously, paternal feelings flooding his mind that he thought were lost forever.

Baxter chuckled. "That, you should ask her yourself. And don't go after that poor boy if you should end up visiting Duncan."

Hardy squirmed in his seat. "Ed, you can't leave me like that. That's not fair. She doesn't talk to me. I'm not supposed to stress over things," he whined.

This time, Baxter outright laughed. "Well, my dear Alec, maybe it is time that you change that. And don't you dare parade your bum heart in front of me after all I went through with your stubborn refusal to take care of yourself. How many times did I save your sorry arse? Right, let's not count because that would be rather embarrassing for you. If you want to know about your daughter's life, get yourself involved. She'll come around. Don't worry so much and have courage, you bloody idiot." He paused for a moment, seeing if Hardy had anything to say and when he didn't, his friend continued, "Let's have lunch when you're back in the area. Want to see that forest on your face with my own eyes. And are you ever going to cut that mop of yours?"

Hardy assumed he must have seen pictures in the papers. He sighed. He would never live the beard down. He scratched at his stubbly cheeks and a grin grew on his face. "I missed your tact, Ed. Always good at giving compliments. At least you haven't told me yet that I look like shit."

Baxter chuckled, but then turned serious again. "I missed you too, Alec, even if you irritate the shit out of me. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to know that you had your surgery and that you actually called me. Don't be a stranger now, okay?"

Hardy swallowed around the lump in his throat. "No, Ed, I won't. Thanks for not giving up on me all this time," he said subdued.

"It's quite all right Alec. It's over now. Time to move on. Call me and let me know what you'll do. We always have a place for you to stay."

"I will. And I'll talk to Emily as well," Hardy added.

"Good, because you'll need a doctor here once you come back. I hear she's pretty good with stubborn patients, especially Scottish ones." Hardy didn't need much imagination to picture his wide grin.

"Ach, stop it Ed. I'll talk to you soon, then."

"I'll take you by your word. Take care of yourself, Alec." Before he could say anything else, his friend was gone and he felt oddly alone in the room.

He put down the phone and dragged his hands over his face. His eyes wandered out over the bay again. It had stopped raining. He stood and stepped outside, closer to the water. Streaks of flaring sunlight filtered through the clouds which obscured the never-ending sky. He breathed in the cool air, tasting the salt on his lips. Baxter wanted him to come home, but Sandbrook wasn't that any more. He felt disconnected from everything there besides the painful memories he had. He was tired of being lonely and feeling displaced. But what was worse, was the fear that he had forgotten how to build a home, how to rekindle those human connections that were so lacking in his life.

He had made a step today, calling Baxter back, and maybe for once he should listen to his friend. If he couldn't stay in Broadchurch and didn't want to go back to Sandbrook, he needed to go somewhere else. Duncan had made a serious effort of keeping in touch with him and had made it very clear that he'd be welcome anytime. He was his oldest friend after all who knew him better than he knew himself. All of a sudden, Cardiff didn't sound like the worst place to go.

He severed his gaze from the cliffs and slowly walked back inside, running his fingers through his shaggy hair. Before he could change his mind he texted Duncan, asking if he could stay with him for a few days until he figured out where to go. There was a prompt enthusiastic 'yes' and things were settled. Hardy looked up the trains and went to pack his few belongings. The box would be picked up by some uniformed officers in a bit. He had a doctor's appointment the next day but maybe he could be seen in Cardiff instead. He would figure it out.

He texted Miller he'd be leaving soon and asked if she wanted to come by and say goodbye while he was waiting for his taxi. He hoped she would.

* * *

Ellie Miller was leaning against the door frame of the kitchen entrance. The hideous orange windbreaker was the only colorful dot in the grey light. Her hands were shoved deeply into her pockets and her eyes darted around in the room and out the window.

"What time is your taxi coming," she asked when he walked over to place his small hold all on the coffee table.

"Ehm… about half an hour." He put the bag down. "You don't have to wait", he added and turned towards the table under the window, shooting her a quick glance.

"Right." She barely looked at him and he felt already rather awkward with the situation. He wasn't the biggest fan of saying goodbye, but then who was? He perched on the table, arms supporting his weight. Neither one of them spoke. He tried to find her eyes, but she quickly averted her gaze to the floor. She was restless and so was he. He shifted on the table and sucked in some air, looked away and then turned back to her. He was struggling to find the right thing to say.

"Miller, I couldn't have done this without you," he stated as quickly as he could, immediately berating himself for the choice of words and gruff tone.

"No, you couldn't, and you didn't," she spilled out nervously. A timid but pleased smile flickered over her lips and lit up her face momentarily.

"Seriously," he emphasized, lacking better words to describe his deep gratitude. She shot him a brief glance while she dropped her gaze to the floor. Her head shook ever so slightly.

"Yah, don't be nice to me. That's not how it works."

 _Bloody woman_. Why could she not accept any form of normal human interaction from him? He lifted his head, inhaled sharply and muttered an exasperated "All right" under his breath. His stare was fixed at the opposite wall, avoiding her.

"So where… where're you gonna go?" she quizzed him.

His eyebrows went up reflecting his own insecurity about the answer. He shook his head and took in another deep breath. He still didn't look at her when he answered, eyes trained at the floor.

"Ehm, I dunno." He really didn't. Even though he had a place to stay at, he didn't have a clue where his life was going to take him now. His direction had vanished together with the burden of solving the Sandbrook murders. He frowned. There was one thing he did know though. Hanging his head, he added, "Close to Daisy. I need to be near to my daughter."

"Yeah, quite right," Ellie agreed, her gaze darting away from him. The tone of her voice caught his attention and he looked up at her. His frown grew deeper. Were there tears in her eyes? He hoped not, because he had no idea what he would do with a crying Ellie Miller when he had such a hard time saying goodbye himself.

She looked out the window, gaze down cast. "Well…," and she pushed herself off the door frame, moving towards him, holding out her right hand, the other still shoved into her pocket, when she continued, "Okay, thanks for everything."

He stared at her, confused. "Handshake?" he asked incredulously but with a much softer voice than before.

She couldn't look at him, eyes intently inspecting the floor. "Yah, not hugging you."

She sounded sad, or did he merely imagine that because he wanted her to feel as sad as he did right now. He stood up from his spot at the table, not leaving her out of his sight, his expression thoughtful. They never had shaken hands before. The one time he had offered, when they first met on that fateful morning on the beach, she had refused, accusing him of stealing her job. He took her hand. It was warm and her tight grasp felt good.

"Look after yourself, Miller," he mumbled, voice breaking up. His gaze rested on her and he tried to smile. She nodded, not saying a word. Then she turned away. He didn't see face, but he knew there were definite tears now, just as much as they were welling up in his. She flicked one last glance at him, and now there was no hiding. Her brown eyes were watery and wide. He pressed his lips together, trying to stay composed. Why did he have such a hard time with letting her go? Why did he still feel she needed him while she was doing everything to push him away?

He gazed after her, a small smile on his lips. A thought came to his mind and his expression became serious. "What about Joe?"

He needed to know. Know that she was safe, that she could get through this. She was almost out the door when she halted and turned back to face him. For the first time since she came to his house, she looked him straight in the eye. They were tearful but there were confidence and determination in them, which mirrored her words. "Ehm, it's been dealt with."

He didn't say anything when he watched her leave. A questioning and worried frown was etched onto his forehead. He wondered what that meant, but maybe he didn't want to know. His eyes trailed her while she walked away, wrapped in her orange coat, taking all the color of the day with her. He felt utterly lonely.

* * *

Hardy looked at his reflection in the car window. The man looking back at him wasn't any less familiar than he had been for the past two years. Shaggy hair fell into his eyes, the scruffy beard could barely hide the gaunt cheeks and his pale complexion, and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck.

The ocean breeze was blowing through his hair and he ran his fingers through it in a sorry attempt at keeping it neat. He took in a breath, closed his jacket and buttoned up the collar of his shirt. Then he tightened the knot of his tie and straightened it. He wasn't sure what that would accomplish but it seemed the right thing to do. It didn't make him feel different, it hadn't in a long time, so he had stopped caring altogether.

"Where to then, sir?" the taxi driver asked, having no idea what weight this seemingly harmless question carried for his patron. He let his gaze drift over the bay. The never-ending sky wasn't as hostile any more as it had been and after taking way too many walks on the beach, he had to admit he liked the feeling of the sand underneath his feet.

And then there was Ellie Miller. In her orange windbreaker, with her unruly curls and her resilience to not give in to the shit storm her life had been ever since he met her. Miller who didn't want a hug, who didn't believe that he could be nice to her.

And that was when it hit him. He didn't want to leave.

That was rather unexpected. He never really thought about it, assuming that he wouldn't stay as there were no more reasons to do so. He had no idea what he was going to do with his life now, but he did know one thing. He was done running. Oddly enough, he finally had started to feel connected with a place after so many months of being adrift after he had lost everything.

He had come to Broadchurch without any intention of ever leaving, but for a very different reason. When Baxter found him at the river after the Ashworth trial had ended and had taken him home with him, the part of him that used to be Alec Hardy stayed behind. What was left was a shell of himself, struggling every single day to keep afloat, to go on. He was going through the motions, clinging on to his insane plan of hiding Claire and waiting for Lee to come back in order to either finish it – or more likely him – off.

And then Danny Latimer was murdered. Another teenager, more devastated lives, and more nightmares that would rob him of even the little relief he'd get when he was able to sleep. Another reason to kill himself over, to lose whatever little of himself was left in it. He almost succeeded.

"Sir, are we going somewhere?" the driver asked impatiently.

Hardy's gaze had lingered on the impressive whitewashed walls of the cliffs. He climbed into the car, carefully cradling his left arm. He could feel the still unfamiliar weight of the device nestled under his left collarbone.

"Could you take me to the top of Briar Cliff, please?" Hardy ordered quietly. There was one more goodbye before leaving.

The cabbie shot him a puzzled look via the rear view mirror before starting the engine. The drive was short and Hardy closed his eyes, not willing to acknowledge the scenery they were passing by. He paid the driver handsomely for the lost time and not going to the train station as he previously had intended to. He stood on the gravel of the parking lot for a while before he found the courage to make the hike up the cliff.

He moved slowly, not used to the idea that possibly his heart wasn't going to give out on him any moment. After the initial boost of energy from simply having a steadier heart rate and not constantly being out of breath, he had realized quickly that recovery would be a painfully protracted process. Unfortunately for him, he had regained enough energy to welcome back one of his lesser valued personality traits, impatience, which didn't make it easier.

He made it all the way to the top with only needing to stop once. He found the spot he was looking for and put down his bag. It was close to the edge, as close as he dared to inch forward. Something orange far down on the beach caught his eye. A small smile curled up his lips. He squinted into the wind and thought he recognized not only Ellie, Tom and wee Fred but also the whole Latimer clan. Right where they had found Danny.

He stepped back, not wanting them to notice him. He was not part of this gathering and being up here felt like spying on something private. If he was honest with himself, he would have liked to be there down at the beach, at the spot he had spent so much time at as a boy. However, he had chosen to come up here, to say goodbye again. It had only been a few days since his last visit to the cliff tops, but how different things were now.

Or were they not? He didn't know. Seemed to be his perpetual state these days, not knowing. Last time he believed, he was going to die. Now, it didn't seem like it. Last time he was so tired of life. Now he was just empty. And still tired. Last time it was the thought of Ellie Miller that brought him back to his home. Now she had moved on to getting her life back. Still not hugging him.

It had hurt. He had to admit that. The bloody handshake didn't feel right, no matter how he twisted or turned it. She had told him that's not what he did, the day Joe took the coward's way out and pleaded not guilty. It had stung back then as well. Hugging people, touching and being close with the ones he cared about had been part of the Alec Hardy that stayed at the river. But he wanted that part back. For the first time since his world fell apart after Tess confessed to her affair, he wanted that Alec Hardy back.

Watching Ellie Miller being shattered by what her husband had done was grueling. It made him relive his own humiliation and destruction of life as he knew it. The more time he spent with her, the more he recognized that she was walking down the same path he had. Her pain of being shunned by friends, including her own child, was slowly changing her. And although he would never compare spousal betrayal with child murder, the question of how one didn't see it was slowly eating away on one's soul.

Being close to Miller on so many occasions in the last weeks had really brought out his need to protect her from turning into him. He had tried, timidly and clumsily, not used to taking care of anyone anymore. She rejected everything and he knew better than to be hurt, but after being lonely for so long and finally letting someone in again, it was a bitter pill to swallow. It was rather ironic that the only thing he had to offer in the end was the very thing that had ruined him. She had solved the Sandbrook case, brought back Tom into her life and made up with her best friend. More than he could ever accomplish.

He was still standing on the same spot. Tired of being on his feet, he slowly sat down in the damp grass. He pulled up his knees and hugged them with his arms. He was waiting for the sun to set over the horizon. Daisy always said the never-ending sky made her feel free and for the first time in his life, he understood what she was talking about. Wind tousled his hair and the sea breeze coated his skin in salt and fine droplets of water.

It was going to be a while, so he laid back in the grass, staring up into the cloudy sky. For a moment there was an eerie memory of the dreams he had during the pacemaker surgery, lying in the grass, being drenched in river water, dying alone on the cliff. He balled his hands into fists, only to make sure there was no water dripping off of them. He closed his eyes, fully expecting her ghost to appear. She didn't. Not this time. Relieved, he let his mind wander until he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, it was getting dark and he was cold and clammy. The sun was about to set. He sucked in a deep breath and sat up. This was what he had waited for. He allowed the memory of his mother to surface from the safe spot where he had buried it. He closed his eyes, seeing her in front of him, smiling that sad smile. She pulled him into what would be their last hug and told him that she loved him before she left him forever.

"I love you too, Mum. Goodbye," he whispered into the wind, tears flowing down his cheeks. For so many years he had held back and locked away the memory, but a few nights ago, he couldn't any more. He finally was ready to say his farewell that he never could since he was a child. He stayed on the cliff until it was fully dark and beyond.

Eventually, he stood up, stiff and cold, but feeling more at peace than he had in a long time. His hand rested over the letters tucked away in his shirt pocket. He was done. It was time to come back from the river. No more running. No more hiding his true feelings behind all those walls. No more loneliness. He made a decision. He was going to get that hug from Ellie Miller. He grabbed his bag and walked off into the cold night, long strides taking him down the cliff with determination and purpose.

* * *

 **A/N:** In this story we encounter a few important people in Hardy's life who were introduced in "A Million Holes Poked In The Soul". So if you're interested to learn more about them, you know where to go. For those who aren't, here's a little bit about some of the main supporting characters. There is Ed Baxter, Hardy's former boss at South Mercia Constabulary. He is not only that but also a very good friend who stood by Hardy during the Sandbrook murders. They have a long history of friendship and support, built upon their mutual respect and shared feelings of fatherhood and love for their children (Emma is Baxter's daughter). Hardy's cardiologist in Sandbrook is Emily Abbott, who became his support and confidant in his struggle with his heart condition. And last but not least, we meet Duncan and his family. Duncan is Hardy's oldest friend, going back to when they were teenaged boys. They have been through many ups and downs and keep each other grounded.

Oh, and if you want to hear about my take on Alec Hardy's mother and how she left his live, you may want to read "A Better Way To Fall". It will also tell you a little bit about the letters, so will "Sunrise".


	4. Chapter 3 - With All My Heart

**A/N:** All right – finally here it is, the long promised continuation of this story. I apologize for the lengthy delay, but "A Million Holes" took way longer to write than I thought it would. There will be more regular updates now while I'm working on concluding "A Million Holes". If you want to refresh your memory (and also because there a few changes), I've updated the previous chapters. I hope you enjoy the continuation!

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – With All My Heart**

Ellie couldn't sleep. Nothing new about that. After staring at the empty side of the mattress for a while, she huffed and pushed the blanket away. No use in staying in bed. She put on socks and a light jacket and padded out onto the landing. It hadn't even been a week since they had taken the house back. It turned out to be a minefield of memories which proved incredibly stubborn to ignore. After a futile battle, she had settled on letting them happen, looking at them what they were, images from a past long gone.

She checked on Tom like she did every sleepless night. He was wrapped in his sheets like a burrito, one leg sticking out over the bed frame. She sighed. They would have to get a bigger bed, he had finally outgrown his childhood one. She left the door ajar and sneaked into Fred's room. The toddler was sleeping on his tummy, head bent back, mouth open and drooling. The blanket had been kicked off, for the fourth time this night. With a smile, she gently tucked it around him and ran her hand through his curly hair. Fred didn't mind being back, in fact he enjoyed all the space, stairs and furniture to jump off from. Blissful ignorance. Ellie was jealous.

She trudged downstairs to the kitchen. There was a brief debate with herself about a cup of tea versus a glass of wine. The latter won. She was pouring herself a red when there was a knock at the door. She froze. Who the hell would come to her house at this time of the night? The knocking was louder now.

She grabbed a frying pan and stepped into the hallway. They only had sent off Joe a few hours ago. Maybe the world was doing her a favor and she could give Joe a deadly head injury, if he should have the nerve to show his face at her house. She couldn't quite make out the figure outside in the dark, but something struck her as familiar. She gripped the handle tighter and approached the entrance, ready to pounce.

"Who's this?" Ellie asked much more confidently than she felt.

"It's me, Miller," a male voice with an annoyingly strong Scottish accent answered.

 _What the fuck?_ What was Hardy doing in her vestibule in the middle of the night?

"Why are you at my house?" she hissed, not making any move to let him in.

"Christ, Miller. Will you open the bloody door?" She could hear him rolling his eyes.

"Give me one good reason why I should," she threw back at him.

"'Cause I'm cold and I have to use the loo. That's two reasons. Now open up," he demanded.

"No," Ellie pouted.

"What do you mean, _'no'_? I'm cold and tired and really need to use the loo. Stop being a knob," he whined.

"You've got nerve. You're the bloody knob for showing up and ordering me around. What are you even doing here, thought you'd left." Ellie realized she was yelling at a closed door.

 _Bollocks._ This was stupid. The obstinate git was driving her bonkers. She was seriously contemplating opening up and whacking him with the frying pan, when a movement caught her eye.

She heard a muffled moan, then a thud. His body slumped against the wooden door. There was a growled groan and a muttered "Bloody thing", followed by more cursing and groaning.

"Hardy?" He didn't say anything.

"You all right?" She probably shouldn't ask.

"'M fine." Even with the wood and glass between them she could tell he was out of breath.

 _Ach, for God's sake._ "Move away from the door, I'm opening it."

She couldn't help herself but grin when she saw him. His hair was not only as shaggy as usual but sticking up in all directions, mussed up from the ocean breeze. She squinted at the dark. Yes, no doubt, there were some grass seeds and stems stuck in there. His shirt was clinging to him, damp and more wrinkled than normal. His cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed in his otherwise pale face. He was rubbing his chest where he'd had the surgery. His mouth was slightly open and he was panting a little. There was sweat on his forehead and his eyes were dark and wide.

"Jesus Hardy, what'd you do? Did you fall in a ditch or something?" Ellie joked.

"Please, can I come in? I'd like to sit for a moment." He was subdued, aggravation all gone.

Ellie frowned and moved out of the doorway. He staggered into the kitchen and plopped heavily onto a chair, still tugging nervously at his left shoulder.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have come. Bad idea. Should've just left." He didn't look at her.

"Hardy, did your pacemaker go off?" Ellie wasn't sure but it seemed like a valid conclusion.

He nodded, self-consciously moving the hand away from his chest and staring at it. Ellie marveled at how uncomfortable he was in his own skin. His awkwardness warmed her heart, and she asked gently, "Did it do that before?"

This time his head went side to side, a deep furrow etched into his forehead.

"Oh," she breathed. And then after a few heartbeats curiosity won. "How does it feel?"

"It bloody hurts," he snapped at her, piercing her with his hazel eyes. He inhaled deeply and added with a softer voice, averting her gaze, "It does that thing... my heart... 's not beating properly... it flutters," he stammered, trying out the words to describe his everyday reality that was so foreign to Ellie. "Felt like it would stop, just like before." He was rubbing the spot again. "'S not supposed to do that any more. Was scared, it wasn't going to work," he admitted, whispering the last few words.

Ellie remembered holding his wrist and feeling his fleeting pulse that night on Briar Cliff. It had been frightening. She couldn't imagine how it must be for him. They had never really talked about his heart condition besides in the hospital that morning after the boat yard. When she saw him again at the trial, she was deeply disturbed how _ill_ he'd looked, even compared to after his cardiac arrest back then. His movements were so much slower than what she'd observed that night she'd stalked him on his birthday. At times, he'd seemed so weak that she'd wondered how he was still walking around.

Like that one night, when she came to tell him that Claire was agreeing to meet Lee. She had knocked at his door, peeking through the glass. He was asleep inside on his sofa, glasses on his face. He woke up startled and could barely make it to his feet to drag himself to the door. His face had been drawn in pain and his already pale color had turned ashen. She wanted to say something, ask him if he was getting worse, but then she didn't, too wrapped up in her own emotional turmoil.

"You never talk about it. Do you want to though?" She wasn't sure why she pried but something seemed different about him tonight.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't had anyone be interested in quite a while. Sorta forgot how to." He squirmed on his seat. The loneliness that his words implied was making Ellie's heart ache.

She stood up and picked up her glass of wine. More out of politeness than anything else she asked, "Do you want some?"

That earned her some eye rolling.

"I'm not supposed to, Miller," he sighed.

"But you were drinking when you came over for dinner," Ellie insisted.

"Yah, fucking good that did for me," he replied angrily.

"God, you didn't slip in the shower, you had an attack," Ellie exclaimed, sudden realization hitting her. She felt seriously daft. "That's when you were in the hospital for the first time."

"Certainly not the first time." His words dripped with sarcasm. He ran his tongue over his teeth and sniffed.

Ellie frowned. "They only told me about one other time."

Hardy sighed, exasperation written all over his face. "No privacy in this bloody place." He snorted and looked Ellie straight in the eye.

"I've been to the hospital more times than I can count on two hands, Miller. The security guard at A&E at the hospital in Sandbrook knows me by name. A rather dubious honor, if you ask me."

Ellie was shocked. He had told her that he'd been sick for what by now must be over two years but she didn't expect this. She got angry all of a sudden.

"And you still took that job, you fuckwit!" she blurted out.

"For God's sake, when are going to get over the bloody job?" His voice had jumped an octave. "It wasn't personal. I really needed a place to go."

"To hide Claire Ripley," she retorted.

"No, Miller. To hide myself." He looked away, lips pressed tightly together.

She stayed silent. They all knew about what happened at the Sandbrook trial, the aftermath ruining whatever was left of his reputation. She felt empathy more empathy for him now than she had when she learned who had been given her job. Her own life got poured shit on by the press and by the unjust legal system, a fact that had made her see things in a different light. There was one big difference though. She hadn't done anything wrong. He, however, had given Claire a wonderful opportunity to steal the pendant.

He must have read her thoughts, asking quietly, "Did Olly ever tell you they were going to write about the Sandbrook case?"

"No, he didn't. Why?" Where was he going with that? His expression was as stoic as ever.

"It wasn't me who lost the pendant." He was barely audible. She sat up in her chair. Now that was new. She waited for him to continue but he didn't. If it wasn't him, who then? And why would he take the blame for something that would ruin his career? Who would he want to protect so badly? If it hadn't been him who had the affair then?

She remembered that time she had asked Hardy about what happened. He had said a big mistake had been made and when she wanted to know by who, he refused to say anything else. A quick row of pieces of conversation between Hardy and Tess Henchard played through her mind filling in her knowledge of the Sandbrook debacle.

 _"You don't want to open the case because of what? Internal politics? Or… Personal inconvenience?" – "Me take the moral high ground? You built a bloody house there!" – "I had to leave, nobody stood up for me" – "Should have made more friends." – "Like you and Dave?" – "I still have a job to protect."_

"It was your wife," she concluded. The haunted look in his wide eyes confirmed her educated guess. That didn't answer though, why he would do such a stupid thing. Maybe there was no good reason. Knowing him, it could have simply been one of his shit plans that backfired on him. Wouldn't have been the first time.

He gave her a wry smile. "They should really give you your job back. You're good at this."

 _Ha_ , _like that'll ever happen_. She huffed and didn't say anything. And then she realized he had given her a compliment. In his own wanker way. _Bloody hell._ That's not how it was supposed to work. She didn't need his sympathy. Didn't need anybody so close to her that they could rip her soul out again. And especially not broken hearted, tight-lipped, grumpy Alec bloody Hardy.

Her eyes fell on the slumped figure on her kitchen chair. His fingers were still fisted into his shirt right underneath his left collarbone. He looked sad, staring at the dark kitchen window, thoughts clearly miles away.

She got up and put the kettle on, needing something to do to break the tension. This case had ruined him in so many ways, no wonder that he hadn't wanted her to get sucked into it. Of course that didn't occur to him _before_ he made her his personal chauffeur and dragged her around half of England. _Typical._

Despite it being a great distraction from her own mess that was called her life, she more than once had cursed herself, why she'd gotten involved. An image of his big hazel eyes flashed in front of hers. Because he had asked for help, pleading that he couldn't do it alone. He seemed so desperate when he had said he needed to know, if he got it right in the end. His words echoed through her mind.

She had her answer to the why. Without turning around, she asked slowly, "You really believed you were going to die, didn't you?"

He sucked in a breath and held it. When he let it out, a whispered "Aye" accompanied it.

"Is that why you took the blame?" Ellie didn't have to ask to know she was right.

He nodded. "I... I almost died when I found out about the pendant and the affair." He snorted at the memory. His eyes were glazed over, lost in his past. "My stupid heart couldn't handle it. Didn't think I would make it. I didn't want Daisy to be left with her mother who can't support her and who she hates because of what she did to me. Taking the fall for it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was a shit plan." He spat out the last words, self-loath obvious.

She could tell it cost him to be so straightforward. Actually she was surprised that he would be this open. He knew about her whole life and she didn't know anything about him. No wonder he was so screwed up. The physical toll of his heart disease alone combined with the mess that the case had been was probably enough to drive anyone insane. But then add the fact that his wife cheated on him literally under his nose, taking down their marriage and the case alike with one foul swoop, the resulting damage might be irreparable.

He had reverted back to his usual closed up self while she rummaged through her cabinets for herbal teas. She had her back turned to him when he asked for what she desperately didn't want to happen.

"Ellie, could I…" His voice was breaking and he swallowed hard. Spooked by hearing her name out of his mouth, Ellie turned around slowly, catching sight of his pale face. He lifted his hazel eyes to meet hers. "Could I... have a hug?" he asked hesitantly, shy like a little boy.

She stared at the man sitting huddled in on himself on her kitchen chair, very much like he had on that harbor wall that day they closed the Sandbrook case.

' _Ultimately we're all alone,'_ he had said, with such conviction that it was painful to hear. She understood his words much better now, even knowing only a bit more about what happened to him. How lonely must he have been all those months, away from any friends he might have, away from his daughter? As lonely as she had been. She recognized his gruffness for what it was, an act to protect himself and to not let anybody in. She knew all about that now, how it felt and why one needed to be so guarded. And just as much as he seemed to want that hug, that human touch, she couldn't handle the idea of it, fiercely protecting herself from further hurt and disappointment. It surprised her that he would come to her to seek comfort in his loneliness. And for the first time, she wondered who Alec Hardy had been before the Sandbrook case destroyed his life.

She was lost in her train of thought, wearing a sad frown on her face. She caught him staring at her, eyes wide. He dropped his gaze as soon as she focused her attention back on him.

"'M sorry. What was I thinking? I should leave," he muttered under his breath and stood up.

Ellie took a quick step towards him, stopping him from his retreat. He froze, simply staring at her with those eyes that didn't hide the hurt any more. She opened her arms.

"Ach, come here you bloody idiot." He didn't move, frozen to the spot. She sighed inwardly. Of course he wouldn't know what to do with himself now.

"Didn't think this through, did you? Typical." His face wore a panicked expression.

She shook her head, smiled and stepped closer to him. She smelled salt and wind on him. He was breathing fast and his ears were turning red. She awkwardly wrapped her arms around him, placing her hands on his back. She expected him to stiffen up, but instead he went limp and melted against her body. She leaned her head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat. It felt good. Maybe she needed that hug as well.

He freed his arms from underneath hers and put them around her waist, holding her tightly against his body. His breathing and heart calmed down. His head came to rest on hers and she felt the prickly beard scratching her scalp. She quite liked it. They stood together in the harsh light of the kitchen for a long time, both of them not wanting to let go now that they finally had found closeness.

Eventually, he whispered in her hair, "See, I do hugs after all." A few more heartbeats passed and he added, "Thank you, Ellie."

* * *

He was still hugging her. And he had thanked her, the bloody knob. What the hell was she going to do with that? Now she couldn't pretend any more he was her annoying boss who had dragged her into some ridiculous scheme of his. Where did that leave them? There was another reason why she didn't want to hug him when she had said goodbye earlier. She had been afraid to admit that he had become more than this irritating person in her life who took her job, ordered her around and refused to call her by her first name. A hug wasn't something she could handle right now despite the comfort his warm body provided.

And that was when it hit her. She didn't want him to leave.

As soon as the thought struck her, she tried to wiggle herself free from his embrace, utterly dumbfounded by the realization. Something must have shown on her face, because he abruptly let go of her, spun around and was on his way out, much faster than she'd thought he could move. He grabbed his bag and hurried out the door, without a word, not turning back. She stood there for a moment, fighting with her own demons.

"Bollocks," she muttered under her breath. She snatched her keys and her coat and ran after him. She caught him halfway down the street. He was leaning against a fence, panting, heels of his hands pressed on his eyes.

"Why'd run out like that? What the hell is wrong with you?" she hissed quietly, not wanting to wake up all of her neighbors.

"What's wrong with _me?_ " His pitch had shifted an octave up. "Oh, of course. There's something wrong with me, because I'm the fucked up arse who isn't capable of displaying any kind of normal human behavior, because that's not what I do. Ever considered that I actually try and nobody fucking gives a shit?" He was shouting now, losing his breath.

A light went on in the house they were standing in front of.

 _Great_ , exactly what she needed. More bloody attention to her fighting on the street with the man she'd been accused of having an affair with and then trying to frame her husband for child murder. She tugged on his jacket, attempting to get him to go back to her house. He jerked his arm away.

"Just leave me alone, Miller. You don't want me around. I get that. I probably wouldn't want myself around either, but I don't get to choose. I'm stuck with me and my shit life and now that my stupid heart is fixed I have ample time to spend with myself as nobody else is interested." His voice was sharp with all the self-loath he must have been carrying around for the past two years or so.

Ellie's heart broke. It broke because up until now she had known he was a lonely person, but she had never allowed herself to see how isolated he really had been. It broke because she knew she had rejected him like everyone else had, even if her reasons were different. It broke because he was standing in front of her, clothes hanging off of him, trying to catch his breath, rubbing his chest, angry tears running down his cheeks, a personification of a broken heart, but trying so hard to claw his way back into life. She knew how that felt.

He had slid down the fence, knees tucked up to his body, head buried under his arms. She stepped closer, carefully loosening up his tight grip.

"Alec, please look at me," she demanded gently. He didn't move. She kneeled down on the street next to him. She put her hand under his chin, lifting up his face. He tried to avoid her gaze.

"It's not that I didn't notice, I couldn't let you. Not because of you, but because of me. I couldn't let you in, it would have hurt too much. And I think you of all people should understand that."

He remained silent at first, but then he nodded. She got up to her feet, holding out a hand to help him up.

"Come, let's go back to the house. It's late. You can sleep on the sofa."

He surprised her by not only taking her hand, but also using the opportunity to pull her into his arms for another hug as soon as he had clambered to his feet. Somewhere inside her it registered that he was actually quite good at it. She smiled.

"Not hugging you... what utter horseshit," he muttered into her hair, sounding as grumpy as ever, holding her tightly. When he let go of her, he growled, "Better get back, still gotta use the loo. Reason why I came here in the first place." His face was stoic again, hiding his emotions.

"Right. And it had nothing to do with what you said a minute ago," she called him out. He glared at her and then shoved his hands in his pocket. She grinned. At times, he was so predictable and although Ellie would never admit to it, she enjoyed getting him all riled up.

Teasingly, she continued, "Wouldn't want you to have an accident and ruin the one pair of trousers you've got." That earned her some eye rolling. She felt like a kid scoring a football goal. Her grin grew wider and finally his lips curled up the tiniest bit. He put his hand on her shoulder, turning her gently towards the direction they had come from. They walked back in amicable silence, his hand resting where he'd placed it. This time she didn't feel the need to shrug it away.

She gave him sheets, a pillow and a blanket and soon enough he was asleep, snoring softly on her sofa. But not after complaining about how uncomfortable this was going to be, how he was way too long for this sofa and how he was supposed to sleep in a proper bed after the surgery. She had told him it was that or the floor which scored her another exasperated eye rolling. She tucked the blanket tighter around him, and watched him sleep like she had done a couple of weeks ago in the hotel. This time she didn't feel the urge to search for his pulse, knowing that that part of his broken heart was no longer of concern. Tonight, they both had made a step towards healing the rest.

* * *

The next morning he was gone. The only trace of him was an envelope propped up against the neatly folded bedding. She carefully picked it up. It had its marks of wear and tear, but her name was on it and a few scribbles on the back.

 _'Ellie, I'm not a man of many words. I wrote this a while ago, before the surgery. Alec.'_

Ellie stared at it. A letter. Which he had written to her. When he thought he was dying. Alec bloody Hardy who let her know by text that he was going to a surgery he didn't think he was going to wake up from had written her a bloody letter. She had to sit down on the sofa. Her bottom lip was trembling and her eyes were filling up with tears.

At first she didn't dare open it. She held it in her hands, looking at his slightly curly hand writing. She remembered the whiteboard at the Broadchurch CID and the somewhat jagged letters that he had jotted down for the team. He must have put some effort in printing her name on the envelope.

She got up and took it into the kitchen with her. She placed it on the table while she made tea, now and then glancing at it. Then, she sat down in front of the envelope, holding on to the steaming mug. Eventually, she found the courage to open it.

There were several pages of neat handwriting, nothing crossed out, which made her wonder if he had written more than one draft. In an old fashioned manner, he had put the location - Broadchurch - and the date in the right hand corner. Two days after they had gone to Sandbrook for the weekend. And a few days before his surgery. She took a deep breath before she started reading.

 _Ellie,_

 _I can't be sure under which circumstances this letter will find you, but I hope someone will have made the effort to get it to you. I would thank that someone in person, but I fear I might not be able to._

Ellie stopped reading. This wasn't fair. He came to hug her, then disappeared in the morning, leaving her a letter that he wrote thinking she would get it when he was dead.

 _I can't forget the night in the hotel. I feel like I should have said something, when you woke up crying. I should have been there for you and not pretended to be asleep._

What? He had been awake? _Knob_. Her face was heating up with her embarrassment over crying in her sleep.

 _But I really thought you might be too embarrassed if you knew I had seen you like that. I know how it feels, much more than you might believe. I was awake because I had just woken from my own nightmare, like I do every night. I told you once, I don't sleep and I suspect it might be the same for you now. I'm sorry about that, and I wish I could take back those three words I said to you, those words that shattered your world._

The letters blurred in front of her. _'It was Joe'_ \- she heard these words every night, uttered in his soft Scottish lilt, haunting her. Sometimes she had wondered, if he knew that he had involuntarily lent his voice to her nightmares. Maybe he did. It wasn't his fault, but it was still his face that was connected with the words that had destroyed her life. She rubbed her eyes, wiping the tears away.

 _You gave me a gift that night and you don't even know it. Your caring touch helped me go back to sleep and wake up rested in the morning, something I haven't been able to do in a really long time. I guess, maybe I didn't feel quite as lonely. One never really understands how the simple presence of another human being and a kind gesture of caring can make a difference until you experience the utter lack of it._

If Ellie hadn't been in tears already, she'd be crying by now. The loneliness reflected by his words was striking. It was hard to stomach. But when she imagined reading this at the time for when he had originally intended it, she almost couldn't handle it.

 _I'm very grateful for all that you've done for me. I dragged you into this nightmare of mine, made you part of my shit plan, yelled at you and did nothing to make your life better._

Not true, Ellie thought. He _had_ made her life better. Granted she started from a rather low point, so it didn't take much to elevate that. But he had done more than that. He was the only person who didn't either treat her like a child murderer herself or drowned her in pity. He had been genuine, kind and present.

 _The best I could be was a distraction from this farce of a trial. You must believe me, I have tried so hard to comfort you, to give you more than bickering and ordering you around, but it's been such a long time for me and I fear I failed._

He had come back last night, trying again, willing to expose himself. Despite her rejecting him over and over again. He hadn't so much failed, as she hadn't let him succeed.

 _I have many regrets, some are small some are big. One of the greatest ones is that I couldn't be a better friend to you. I've forgotten how to be one and I am truly sorry for that. My life took a turn for the worse when I almost drowned in that river; and when I found out about my wife's betrayal and the dire consequences it had for the case, everything fell apart. I was never able to come back from that, it broke me, in more than one way. And I'm not sure, if I ever can heal from it. I haven't given up yet, although I've been close many times._

A shiver ran down Ellie's spine. He had told her about the day he found Pippa, but she had had the feeling that there was more to it than he had let on. It wasn't until last night, when he had revealed that it wasn't him who had lost the pendant, that it dawned on Ellie how complex his story really was. He had taken the blame for this horrible lapse in professionalism that led ultimately to him wasting away while pursuing the desperate attempt at getting it right in the end. Because he was convinced he was dying. And he was willing to give his last breath to it, just like he had to solve Danny's murder.

Ellie inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly. He had said he was a bad friend because he didn't try hard enough, but the truth was she hadn't either. He had come to her for help, ill and lonely, and she knew and chose to look away from everything that wasn't related to the case. He hadn't been forthcoming, but she also hadn't dug very deep.

 _Why am I telling you this? I don't want you to feel sorry for me and certainly I wouldn't want you to feel guilty that you didn't know any of this, because how could you, I never told you. That's not why. I'm telling you because I worry about you. Very much._

He did, didn't he? It used to be her who would fuss over him, but if she looked at the past weeks, they had switched roles. He had offered a hug and words of comfort, had fed her, had been willing to give up his bed for her, knowing how ill he was, and had sat beside her in the trial, never leaving her alone. And she hadn't even asked once how he was doing, at least not beyond their standard 'You all right?' - 'M fine' exchange. The pang of guilt that she had been nursing over her choice to look away suddenly exploded. She grabbed her phone, searching through her contacts. Her fingers rested over his name. She put it down. She hadn't finished reading the letter yet. She probably should.

 _I saw Danny's case change you and although I was more than pleased to see you grow into a brilliant detective, it was painful to see you turn from this happily naive person into a sad and suspicious person by doing so. You said you hate what you became – hardened. I had my part in it and perhaps I shouldn't have been so pushy. I hope you accept my apologies._

Ellie's face was drawn into a sad smile. He sure had done his best to convey that you can't trust anyone. He had been so right though. She idly wondered, if he used to trust before his wife cheated on him and lost vital evidence in the process.

She took a sip of her now cold tea and grinned at the memory of him calling her outstanding in front of his smug ex-wife, who seemed surprisingly bothered by it. He was utterly oblivious of her reaction, only excited over what Ellie had accomplished. After they had met in the coffee shop and Tess had blown him off, she had thought Hardy might still have feelings for her. But now she wasn't so sure any more. Their dynamics seemed complicated, not the least because of the daughter they shared. She was surprised by her desire to learn more about this part of his life, not out of morbid curiosity though, but because she cared about the bloody wanker.

Her gaze trailed out the window. She did, didn't she? Care about him. Not only because he'd been an odd version of a friend, but because she actually liked his company. Again, she was dumbfounded by the realization that she didn't want him to leave, that she wanted him to be around. She returned her attention back to the letter, finding the spot she had left off.

 _And then I had to tell you about Joe. Believe me, it was one of the worst days I my life and I've had some really bad ones in my recent past. I watched you break in front of me, your world falling apart in a split second, just like mine had. I would never compare what Joe did to anything that Tess did, but the deep feeling of betrayal, that I can compare._

Could he really? Maybe. His wife's adultery at least had been with a consenting adult and not an eleven-year-old child. Who was then murdered by the cheating spouse. She rubbed her eyes. She didn't want to think along those lines. Tess's actions let a child murderer walk free. Ironically, it also indirectly led to the whole murderous trio being apprehended. But not after Hardy had ruined his life over it. He said he'd almost died after he found out about his wife's affair and the stolen pendant. He must have been quite ill already then. Maybe one day he would tell her the whole story. She wanted him to.

 _I've been watching you go down the same path that I've been walking along and frankly, it hurts. Nobody should go there, and especially not someone so drunk on life and happy like you. I've always been a miserable sod, but not you. And as much as I get irritated by the fussing, people hugging Ellie, I have to admit I miss her._

Her tears dripped on the letters, bleeding the ink. She hastily wiped them off the paper, leaving a smear over his neat handwriting. She missed her too.

 _I don't have much left in my life, and most of it is compulsion and leads to nothing but more anger and sadness. But trying to be there for you, to help you not make the same mistakes I made, that was at least something positive that I could focus on. Sadly, I think I'm no good at it. I couldn't really find the right things to do and certainly not the right words. That night you drove me home from Sandbrook, I wanted to tell you so much, to share what I had done wrong in order to protect you from turning into me. But I couldn't and I'm sorry for that. Being betrayed by the one person you can think you can trust your life with is one of the worst things that can happen to you. It leaves scars, even if you can manage to heal and function again. You go on with your life because you have no choice, but something inside has died and is gone, forever._

Ellie was stifling a sob. Her children were still asleep and she didn't want them to wake up to their mother crying. She wanted him to be wrong so badly, but she knew he wasn't. The day she found out about Joe, something inside her had died and she would never be the same person again. She wasn't able to admit that to herself until now, but he was right. It left scars, deep ones.

 _I hate this town for what it has done to you. Their smiley faces shunned you so readily and left you out in the cold, it disgusts me. And it pains me to see that your only recourse was to leave and run. Just like I had to. What I said to Tess in the coffee shop was true. Nobody stood up for me besides one true friend and I wouldn't be here without him. When you came to me that night after I arrested Joe, I wanted to be that person for you, the one friendly face that wouldn't turn you into the boogey man. It hurt a lot when the barristers dragged that through the mud, but I can't even begin to understand how it must have been for you. I should have known better, like so many other things. I feel completely responsible for the fact that the confession was thrown out. I failed you and Danny alike. Just like I failed Pippa and Lisa. And that's what people will remember, if they will at all._

Ellie couldn't decide if the tears on her face were because she felt utterly sad for him or angry about his self-deprecatory words. Maybe a bit of both. When he wrote this, he clearly had been in a very dark place and Ellie seriously worried about him. She eyed her phone again. There were only a few paragraphs left, she might as well finish it. She hoped she wouldn't be a complete emotional wreck by the end.

 _My only hope is that Daisy will not see me in this light. I'm holding on to this thought as much as I can. I haven't really spoken to her in over a year, it's killing me. When I saw her a few days ago, she had changed so much and I missed it. I missed her growing and getting older. I hate it and it hurts so, so much. Don't let that happen to you and Tom, please. Ellie, if there is one thing I would ask from you, then this would be it. Go and get Tom back. Yell at him, hug him, bribe him, do whatever it takes. If you want to pick one mistake I made and want to be serious about avoiding it, then this should be it. You love him, you're his mother and you should be together._

Ellie could see him in front of her, pleading to not let her child grow apart from her. She hadn't and she hoped that Hardy was happy that he got his dying wish fulfilled. She also very much wished that he would listen to his own advice and try to get back in touch with Daisy. He had said as much, and knowing him, he most likely meant it. There were still a few sentences to be read.

 _One last thing. I wanted to make sure that you truly understand, how grateful I am for what you've done. The Sandbrook case destroyed my life. It broke my heart in more than one way, and from what it looks like, I might never be able to heal from it. I am trying though. When I came to you begging to help me solve it, I was desperate. My body is failing me and I don't think I will be able to finish what I started. But knowing that you will, makes me feel almost at peace with it. I have absolute faith in you and I hope when you read this, you will have succeeded where I never could._

 _Thank you for that Ellie! With all my heart (whatever is left of it)._

 _Farewell and have a wonderful life,_

 _Alec Hardy_

Ellie put the letter down carefully. It took her several minutes to compose herself enough to stop sobbing. She gently caressed it with her fingers, trying to avoid smudging it more with all the tears she had shed on it. She felt exhausted, emotions riding high. The only thing she was thinking over and over again was how relieved she was that this did not turn out to be a true goodbye. He was one phone call away. Or maybe she should send him a text. Her lips curled up in a mischievous grin when she grabbed her mobile. Payback time. She pulled up their phone history. There it was the offensive message amongst the last texts he had sent her. The one from when he went to the hospital.

It read: **Going for surgery. In case I make it, will need a ride. Would you mind?**

She still couldn't believe that he had sent her that message. _'In case I make it'_ \- who would say something like that? She sighed, the exasperation helping her to reign in the inner turmoil.

She typed her message: **Read your soppy letter. Followed your orders. Reunited with Tom and solved the case for you. Happy?**

The answer came fast: **I don't do happy.**

And then: **But thanks for listening. For once.**

The nerve this man had! She typed **"Wanker"** and sent it.

Another fast reply: **You can't do better than that? You're disappointing me, Miller. Would have at least expected 'bloody idiot' or maybe 'fuckwit'**

And then: **Should have been more soppy.**

She laughed. **Fine. You're a bloody idiot, for not talking to me.**

Remembering all the remorse and guilt he had, she added: **And I'm the fuckwit for not really asking you how you are. I'm sorry, I wasn't the best friend either.**

She thought she wouldn't get a response, when her phone finally lit up again.

 **Is that what we are? Friends?**

And then a few moments later: **I think I'd like that, very much. Don't have many left.**

She read the messages a couple of times. And much happier than she would ever admit, she wrote back: **Neither have I. Friends it is then. I warn you though, I call all my friends by their first name, ALEC.**

He quickly replied: **I would say over my dead body, but considering the circumstances that might be a bit weird.**

Oh, now he had to be witty. Unbelievable.

Her screen blinked: **Tell you what. I'll explain to you why I don't like my name the next time we meet and then you can decide if you still want to use it.**

And before she could answer, he had written again: **I'm sorry to cut you off, but I have a doctor's appointment and they're calling me in. We'll talk soon. Thanks for last night.**

Ellie put her phone on the table and picked up the letter. She placed it back in the envelope, walked up the stairs and put it carefully in her nightstand drawer. To read it again soon. Her heart was heavy and light at the same time. Heavy with all the sorrow that his words had carried, but light with the knowledge that they both were moving on. She was grateful that he was the stubborn git that he was and had clung onto life despite all the things that happened to him.

When she was back in the kitchen, she sent him one more message: **Thank you for caring. Thank you for being there for me when I needed someone.**

Surprisingly her phone lit up: **Who's soppy now?**

And then: **Don't mention it. That's what friends do, Ellie. Gotta go, the nurse gave me the evil eye. They don't like me, can't imagine why. Something about being difficult. Can you believe it ;-)**

Ellie almost fainted. He had sent her a winky face.

 **You just sent a ;-) to me. Did they give you drugs? Did someone steal your phone? Is this really Alec Hardy?**

All she got was this: **;-p**

And that was the last she heard from him until he left her a message a couple days later, letting her know he was visiting a friend in Cardiff until he figured out where to stay. She missed him already.


	5. Chapter 4 - A Chance

**A/N:** Before I say anything else – I wanted to give the BIGGEST THANK YOU to HAZELMIST who despite everything else took the time to edit this chapter for me and I can't thank her enough. She has probably edited more than 300 000 words for me over the past months (clearly I am way too wordy) and she deserves all the credit for keeping me going. Everyone who likes reading my stuff should go and read her wonderful story and thank her for the work she does for me, because without her I wouldn't be where I am now!

I know it's been longer than I wanted it to take, but I did get sidetracked with "Down By The River" which is turning out to be a very exciting distraction ;-) BUT I am not forgetting about the continuation of my Alec Hardy saga... I spent a lot of time depicting how Alec's life fell apart, now it is time to tell how he picks up the pieces. So here we go... just a brief reminder – Duncan is Alec's oldest friend, Cory is Duncan's oldest son and a friend of Daisy's, and Geena is Duncan's wife. Dr. Davis is Hardy's cardiologist in Broadchurch, we met him in "October Blues". There are some indirect references to that story and of course it all build on "A Million Holes" anyway.

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – A Chance**

Hardy put his phone away with a small smile on his face. Their message exchange had entertained him more than he wanted to admit. When Miller's text had come through, his relief was enormous. It had been a risk to leave the letter behind, but he was glad he had taken it.

He was waiting for the cardiologist, and teasing Miller had taken his mind off the serious discussion that undoubtedly would unfold.

"Good morning, Mr. Hardy. How are you today?" Dr. Davis greeted him with a stern face.

"'M fine," Hardy sighed, dreading what was to come.

"I'm not happy with you, you know that, right? You were supposed to rest and not to do any work," Davis admonished him.

Hardy rolled his eyes. "I wasn't working," he grumbled. At least not officially. Davis didn't buy it.

"I'm very much aware of what happened. This is a small town, no privacy as you always complain about," Davis retorted. "So, once again, how are you doing? And this time I don't want any of that _'m fine'_ nonsense."

Hardy stared ahead, having difficulty putting his state into words. "I think I feel better. Not as tired, less short of breath," he began reluctantly.

"But?" Davis prompted him when he didn't continue.

"The thing went off last night," he muttered, studying his feet.

"It did? It's been pacing your heart the whole time though, correct?" Davis sought clarification.

"Aye. It's a bit… fast?" Hardy wondered, lacking better words to describe it.

"Your heart has been beating at this ridiculously low rate for so long, it's going to take you some time to get used to a more normal speed. We set the pacemaker to take over because your heart needs help so that it can finally recover a bit," Davis reiterated what he had explained before.

"If you say so. Makes it hard to sleep though." Not that he had been sleeping well before the surgery. His disgruntlement was obvious.

Davis lifted his eyebrow and peered over his rimless glasses. "You know how lucky you are that you're still around, right?"

Hardy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. There was no escaping the truth in Davis's words.

"You had a full on cardiac arrest on the table, Mr. Hardy. I don't think I need to remind you about that. I'm extremely dissatisfied that you ignored all advice, walked out the same day, and then proceeded to catch not only one but three killers. Not that I think this isn't a formidable feat, but it's also utterly stupid. You didn't even give us a chance to set the pacemaker correctly and see how it works out for you."

Davis had gotten up during his rant and now stood in front of Hardy who was avoiding looking at him. Davis's practiced hands undressed him swiftly and removed the bandage over the surgical site. Wincing, Hardy whimpered. It had only been a few days and the healing wound was still sore.

"Have you been careful with using the arm?" Davis asked, while he cleaned and redressed the area.

"Aye. No lifting, no stretching, no extension over the head," Hardy repeated the litany of instructions he had received. He would have never thought how annoying it was to put on and take off a sweater when you weren't supposed to move one arm.

"Good. Another six weeks, remember that. It looks like it's healing well." Davis seemed pleased. "Now, tell me about when it went off. I'll check the computer read out later, but I want you to tell me what happened."

Hardy sighed inwardly. How was he going to explain that without getting yelled at? He scratched his eyebrow with his long index finger and then busied himself with buttoning up his shirt.

"I'm waiting. What stupid thing did you do to trigger the ICD to shock you?" Davis prompted him. His tone was friendlier than Hardy would've expected.

"I walked up Harbor Cliff, stayed there for a while and then walked back to town," Hardy admitted meekly. Davis inhaled sharply and shook his head. Exasperated, he didn't bother commenting.

Instead, he quizzed Hardy, "Do you recall us discussing the different kind of shocks that the ICD can give you?"

Hardy gave him a sheepish stare. There was a vague memory of having a conversation about all the spectacular ways the ICD could fry his heart, but nothing had stuck with Hardy besides the fact that it would hurt.

Davis sighed, adjusted his glasses and put on what Hardy called his lecture face. "You need to know these things, Mr. Hardy, as annoying as it might be. Let's do this again and this time, please try to pay attention."

Hardy hated his patronizing tone, but unfortunately he was right.

"There is cardioversion where the shock of the ICD is minor and it stops a too fast heart rate before it deteriorates to something more dangerous. You might experience a thump in the chest. Then there is actual defibrillation – where a strong discharge of the ICD shocks your heart back into a rhythm so that it can pump blood. That's when your heart stops, if you want to put it in those layman's terms. Patients describe it like a kick in the chest and it might sweep you off your feet."

Davis stopped and searched Hardy's face for signs of comprehension. Hardy nodded and chewed on his lip. It didn't sound as confusing after what had happened the prior evening. He could relate to the description.

"So, what did it feel like?" Davis prompted impatiently.

"I didn't fall over, if that's what you're asking about, but it still hurt enough," Hardy growled.

"Hm. Sounds like a cardioversion to me then. But I'll remote into the device and make sure. Have you been taking your medications?"

Hardy's face turned red. He'd been so busy the last few days that he'd been forgetting to take his pills. The fact that he felt better didn't exactly help to remind him to do so.

"Sort of," he mumbled.

Davis's patience was coming to an end. "For God's sake, I told you, you have to continue _all_ of your medications. The heart failure doesn't magically go away because you've a got a little box in your chest. I know Emily Abbott has talked to you about this. The pacemaker doesn't cure your genetic condition. You will have to continue medical therapy for the rest of your life to help reduce the frequency of episodes. Your heart isn't in great shape, Mr. Hardy. It should recover to a certain extent, now that its function will improve with a more controlled heart rate, but it will never be fully healthy again. You will always be vulnerable and the damage caused by repeated cardiac arrests can't be undone."

Hardy stared blankly ahead. He'd heard it before, but Davis was so much blunter about it than Emily had ever been.

"Do you understand that, Mr. Hardy?" Davis insisted.

"Aye. I do. I was –" He hesitated, unable to find the right words. He was going to say distracted, but it had been more than that. He'd lived out the obsession that had driven him for the last two years. And it was finally over. He could move on. "It'll be different now," he promised himself more than Davis.

Davis gave him a quizzical look. "Fine. I'll take you for your word. I want to see you again in a week."

Hardy looked up and met Davis's gaze for the first time. "I'm leaving town. Today."

"Are you going back to Sandbrook? I'd be delighted to call Emily and provide her with all the records she needs." Davis's eagerness was a dead giveaway that he'd be happy to see Hardy go back to his previous cardiologist.

"Not yet. I'll be in Cardiff for a few days, maybe a week. I dunno," he admitted. Duncan would be waiting for him at the train station this afternoon.

"All right. If you want, we can make the appointment here and you can cancel it if you don't need it. But you should be seen in a week's time. We need to reassess if we need to make changes to the pacemaker settings. And don't forget about your medications," Davis reminded him once again.

"I won't." Hardy stood. He hesitated for a moment, then he stuck his hand out. "Thank you for being so patient." Davis looked at him in surprise. Then, he took his hand with a pleasantly firm grasp.

"Don't mention it. Everyone deserves a chance, Mr. Hardy. I'm glad I could be part of giving you one." Davis smiled and led Hardy to the door.

Hardy left the building. The sun warmed his skin. He lifted his head towards the blinding light in the sky, enjoying the sensation of the rays playing over his face. _A chance_ \- that was what Emily had said to him a long time ago. It was more than he had had to hold onto in the past two years. He had been given an opportunity to put things right. He'd started with closing the darkest chapter in his life. It was time to open the next. He took a deliberate step out onto the sidewalk, then another and another. He picked up his pace and relished the fact that his body wasn't betraying him. It faithfully took him all the way to the train station.

When he watched Broadchurch pass by through his reflection in the window, his eyes were stinging with tears of relief. He'd come here to do penance and face the end of his life. He'd made good on the promise to two families, but he'd failed a whole town in the process. He'd failed the only friend he'd made in these dark months. She'd given him something though. She had reminded him how important it was to him to truly care about someone. Deprived of all relationships in his life, he'd forgotten about that when the all-encompassing loneliness had taken over. He now knew what he had to do and he wasn't going to throw away what had been granted to him. A chance to reclaim life. He sighed deeply. Hopefully he wouldn't fuck it up this time around.

* * *

Duncan was pacing up and down the platform. The bloody train was late which did nothing to ease his tension. Hardy had messaged him the day before to ask if he could stay with them. Duncan couldn't believe it, but happily agreed. Hardy went on that he'd already picked a train and when he'd be arriving that day, disregarding the fact that maybe his friend could be busy. Duncan was amused by how some things never changed. However, he had gladly accommodated his friend's request.

A few hours later, already on his way to the station, Duncan had received a cryptic text from Hardy. He had missed his train and was going to use this as an opportunity to go hug someone he should have hugged a long time ago. Duncan hated when Hardy did this to him. Even when they were in school together, Hardy's secretly passed along notes had always been like that. The sorry sod had lived in his own head, not bothering to share what was going on behind that thick mop of hair.

"Bloody idiot," Duncan grumbled.

"Twenty quid that you're talking about me," a Scottish voice said behind him.

Duncan spun around and had to hold back a shocked gasp. He hadn't seen Hardy since last October. He barely recognized his oldest friend. His hair was falling over his hollow eyes that were contrasted by dark circles underneath them. His gaunt cheeks were poorly hidden behind an unruly beard. He'd lost more weight than half a year ago and he looked like a forlorn puppy in his clothes that were hanging loosely off his bony body. Regardless, Duncan was incredibly happy to see him.

"Alec!" Duncan called out enthusiastically and swept him up in a bear hug. "You made it. I missed you," he mumbled into Hardy's ear. There was a deeper meaning in his words and Hardy apparently caught onto it. A barely hidden sob shuddered through him.

"It's over, Alec," he soothed him quietly.

Duncan held him tight for a long time until Hardy's trembling body finally stilled. He squeezed him once more before letting go and Hardy groaned. Duncan noted the awkward way Hardy was holding his left arm. He felt like a moron for not realizing that he probably had unintentionally caused him pain.

"I'm sorry, Alec. Did I hurt you?" he asked insecurely.

Hardy rolled his eyes and grunted, "'M fine." He rubbed a spot under his left collarbone. "Didn't take the pain meds. 'S my own fault," he sighed. "They make me sick to my stomach," he added with a sheepish glance.

Duncan grinned. "I see. Nothing has changed. You're fine, pills make you nauseated and you still haven't learned how to take care of yourself."

His response was a snort drowned out by a yawn. Duncan searched Hardy's tired face. "You're still not sleeping?"

Hardy stared blankly ahead, shaking his head. Then he looked up. "She hasn't come in two nights though." There was a desperately hopeful glimmer in his eyes that tugged on Duncan's heart. He didn't need to ask who Hardy was referring to.

"That's a start, ey?" Duncan commented and picked up Hardy's puny bag. "Is this all you've got?"

Hardy dropped his gaze and nodded again. There was a faint hue of embarrassment creeping up on his pale cheeks.

"All right. Let's get you home." Duncan brushed over the sad fact that Hardy had barely anything left in his life.

"Are you hungry?" he asked while they slowly walked to the car.

Hardy hesitated with his answer. "I think so."

" _I think so_?" Duncan echoed in disbelief. "What sort of an answer is that? Either you are or you're not. You, my friend, have to stop being so bloody stupid all the time. Listen to yourself."

"Duncan, please. I'm trying. It's not easy after I've been by myself for so long," Hardy whined.

"And whose fault is that? It's not like we haven't tried to be around," Duncan retorted sharper than he had intended.

Hardy ducked his head and stopped walking. "'M sorry. I've been a bad friend, haven't I?" he admitted, regret lacing his words.

Duncan stepped up to him and put his arm around Hardy's shoulder. "No, Alec. You haven't been a _bad_ friend, only a very _confused_ one. But it's over now. It's time to leave that bloody river behind and finally start _living_ again."

Hardy's wide hazel eyes glittered. But then something else sparked in them, something that Duncan hadn't seen since before the Sandbrook case had ripped Hardy's life apart. When Duncan saw his _friend Alec_ peeking through from behind those sad eyes like he hadn't in such a long time, his stomach flipped and a deep happy laugh rumbled through his throat.

Hardy looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"What?" Hardy groused. "Did I make a funny face or somethin'?"

Grinning, Duncan clasped his shoulder and nudged him toward the car. "No, Alec. It's good to have you back."

* * *

It was awkward to set foot into the house again where he'd been licking his wounds after his world had fallen apart more than two years ago. Not much had changed. The hallway was littered with children's shoes, coats, toys, a skateboard, a doll's pram, and various book bags. Hardy wasn't sure where to step safely. Duncan noted his hesitation and grinned.

"Didn't have much time to clean up," he apologized.

"It's quite all right. I invited myself on short notice after all," Hardy defused his friend's embarrassment, trying to hide his own over the fact that he'd showed up without much warning.

"Look at you blushing. A little color suits you well," Duncan teased. His large hand landed heavily on Hardy's left shoulder and Hardy whimpered unintentionally. "Fuck. Sorry, Alec. Really need to get used to that thing." He quickly removed his hand as if he'd burnt it.

Hardy fingered the bump under his collarbone and peered at his friend. "So do I," he mumbled. He could see the curiosity in Duncan's eyes. It reminded him of Miller. Thinking of her, the corner of his mouth twitched into a wry smile. She'd like Duncan. They would get along just fine, united in their quest to annoy the shit out of him.

"What's that smile for?" Duncan asked, squinting at him.

Hardy dropped his gaze and prodded a ball with his foot. "Nothing."

Duncan hummed skeptically, but didn't question him further. After a few heartbeats of silence, he continued with way too much childish fascination in his voice, "I was wondering though, about the pacemaker. How does –"

"Don't start," Hardy growled and turned to find his path through the obstacle course towards the kitchen.

Duncan trailed behind him. "Oh, come on, Alec," he whined like he used to when they were boys, and Duncan wanted to hear the latest school gossip based upon Hardy's astute lunch time observations. "You can't expect me not to be a bit curious."

Hardy stopped abruptly and spun around. "You wanna know how it feels? It feels like I'm running a bloody race all the time. It's got this iron grip on my heart and I know it needs to, but it's not _me_. It controls me and I hate it. And I'm entirely at its mercy because without it my heart will give out and I will die. You wanna know what the worst part is? I miss _my_ heart. With all its bloody faultiness and its stupid reactions to my temper, but at least it wasn't run by a fucking heartless machine. I don't even know any more who or what I am because it's all gone. Or at least it's all supposed to be gone. No more broken heart - for fuck's sake it doesn't work that way!" Hardy was shouting by the time he'd finished his rant. His heavy breaths were cutting through the silence. He felt dizzy and he slumped against the wall. Before he knew it the bloody ICD's shock jerked through his body. "Fuck," he wheezed and slid down the wall.

Duncan stared at him with wide eyes. He scratched his salt and pepper hair. "Did that hurt?" he wanted to know.

"What do you think?" Hardy snarled.

Duncan's face was impassive. He came closer and held out his hand. Pulling Hardy up easily, he said pensively, "I don't think the poor little box deserves your anger. You might wanna consider that it's _you_ who doesn't know where your heart is any more. Let the machine keep its iron grip on your _ticker_ , but you have to let go of your iron grip on your _heart_."

Hardy gaped at his oldest friend. The truth that rang in those words was painful, but nevertheless the truth. He squeezed his eyes shut to restrain himself from crying again. He managed to hold back the tears this time.

There was a gentle nudge on his back and he opened his eyes.

"Come on, let's start mending that broken heart with some food," Duncan said and pushed him toward the kitchen.

He let himself be led into the bright room. It was warm and cluttered, and it smelled of coffee, cinnamon and that one scent he could never place. Everything was just like he remembered. He slumped down at the kitchen table and brushed his fingers over the familiar wooden surface. Duncan started piling a wide variety of food items in front of him. The choices seemed overwhelming. The last thing he put down was a bunch of grapes. Hardy's gaze whipped up.

"So, Ellie Miller, ey? Solved Sandbrook for you. Must be quite a detec –"

Hardy threw a grape at a broadly grinning Duncan. He missed and cursed. When Duncan laughed, Hardy all of a sudden felt more at home than he had in months. Grinning as well, he snatched the grapes and plopped one into his mouth. Chewing on the delicious fruit, he said, "Grapes are good for the heart."

Duncan cocked his head and searched his face. "I'd say so," he agreed with a knowing smile.

* * *

Two days later, Hardy stared at Geena's laptop. The sun was warming his face and he squinted into the bright light, barely able to discern the screen images. Not that it mattered, his heart wasn't in the task he was trying to accomplish.

He rubbed his eyes, pushing his glasses up his forehead. Deciphering all the tiny print on those websites strained his sight. He sighed. There was no denying it, he needed new glasses. He was getting old.

"Daisy likes that neighborhood," a young voice stated behind him. Hardy startled a bit, taking pleasure in the fact that his heart faithfully beat on without losing its steady pace.

He turned and looked up at the tall figure who was casting a shadow over the table. Cory had grown since he'd seen him last two years ago. His green eyes that he'd inherited from his father were focused on the screen.

"Ah, and how would you know that?" Hardy queried sternly.

The lad blushed, his cheeks matching his copper hair.

"Erm, she says it's close to her school and that there are a lot of great places to hang out at," Cory stammered.

Hardy looked back at the rental postings. He didn't want to admit it, but the area being close to Daisy's school was one of the reasons he had taken it into consideration. That, and the fact that it was as far away from the river as possible.

"Does she still like Mary's Tearoom," Hardy wondered quietly. There was a longing in his voice and he didn't know where it was coming from.

Cory hesitated. "Sort of."

Hardy frowned questioningly at the boy when he plopped down in a chair next to him.

"She doesn't want to go there 'cause she…," Cory trailed off, squirming in his chair.

Hardy dropped his gaze and clasped his hands between his legs. "Is it because of me?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

Cory nodded. Hardy squeezed his eyes shut. It hurt.

"Does she ever talk about me?" He shouldn't pry, but he couldn't help himself. Cory was the closest to his daughter he'd been in the past year or so. He wanted to know everything about her so badly.

Cory stayed silent and it was Hardy's turn to nod. He passed a hand over his face, surreptitiously wiping at his moist eyes.

"'M sorry, Cory. Shouldn't have asked. I don't want you to get caught in the middle," he sighed. Then he took in a deep breath and changed the topic.

"So, how's London?"

Cory grinned. "It's great. Couldn't be better. Love the city. Daisy always says –" Cory stopped himself when he saw Hardy's face. It had lost all color.

"She came to visit?" Hardy asked roughly.

"Yeah, a few times," Cory admitted.

"How many?"

"Once a month or so."

"Alone?"

"No."

"With her mother?" Hardy interrogated the poor lad relentlessly. It was too much to handle and he was losing control over his emotions.

"Yeah." Cory turned bright red. He was hiding something and Hardy lost it.

"Did _he_ come?" Hardy snarled, gritting his teeth.

Cory looked at him with wide eyes, confirming his suspicion.

"For fuck's sake!" Hardy shouted and slammed his flat hand on the table.

Cory flinched. "I'm sorry, Alec," he mumbled.

Hardy's shoulders heaved with his breaths. Suddenly restless, he rose and started pacing on the small porch. One hand was planted on his hip, the other balled into a tight fist. He probably shouldn't have, because the little box in his chest was already working overtime to keep his bloody heart in check.

"Alec, you should calm down. You don't look so good," Cory pleaded carefully. Too breathless to talk, Hardy only waved a hand at him and shook his head. He braced himself, arms apart, against the wooden rails. Cory came up behind him.

"Did you ever tell Daisy about the heart?" he asked quietly.

Hardy shook his head again. Then he lifted his gaze to meet Cory's eyes. "Did you?" he rasped.

"No. She wasn't very…" Cory hesitated, presumably searching for the least harsh word. "...receptive when it came to talking about you."

Hardy snorted. "Receptive, ey? That's putting it nicely, I guess."

"She said she was glad to see you though a few weeks ago." Cory paused and then added, "She seemed a bit disturbed afterwards."

Hardy frowned. "We were interrupted by –"

"No, Alec. She mentioned that, but that wasn't it." Cory bit down on his lip and picked on a piece of wood that stubbornly stuck up from the rail.

"What was it then?" Hardy was confused.

"I'd rather not say," Cory evaded the answer.

"Cory," Hardy growled, ducking his head to be at eye level. It wasn't as low as he remembered having to do in the past. Cory wasn't a little boy any more. He had grown into a young man and he was acting like one. He held Hardy's fiery gaze without blinking.

"Alec, with all due respect, but Daisy and I – we're really close and she trusts me. I don't want to betray that trust. You should talk to her, something that you should have done a long time ago," he stated confidently.

Hardy backed away and gaped at him. "Are you _dating_ my daughter?" he asked in utter disbelief and voice shifted up an octave.

Cory looked at him as if he was out of his mind. "Seriously? It took you this long to figure that out?"

It had. Or maybe it hadn't and Hardy had simply ignored the obvious. Whatever it was, the blunt response finally tipped him over the edge. His heart had had enough. He made acquaintance with the full force that the little box could wield upon him. As promised, it did sweep him off his feet. Quite literally.

When he came to, Geena and Cory were hovering over him with worried faces and scared eyes.

"'M fine," he croaked, swatting at their grabby hands. He clumsily rolled over and scrambled to perch on all fours. His left arm felt numb and there was a throb in his chest.

"God, if you react like this when you find out Daisy is dating someone, what are you going to do when she gets married?" Cory asked sarcastically.

Hardy had clambered to his feet, balancing himself on his knees. His head snapped up and he almost fell.

"What?" he squeaked.

"Cory!" Geena snapped at her son. "Leave him alone. This is not the time for jokes. Or do you want to tell your bride to be that the happy news killed her father?"

"What?" Hardy wheezed. His gaze whipped over to Geena who was grinning from one ear to the other. Cory chortled.

Hardy straightened up. "That's not funny. Not at all," he complained, trying to catch his breath.

"I dunno, Alec. Seems quite comical to me," Geena sniggered.

"Ach," Hardy groused and collapsed onto a chair.

Geena ruffled his hair and brushed a quick kiss on his temple. "You all right? Do you need your medication?"

Hardy was about to growl a "'m fine" and that he didn't need anything, reflexively denying help. His eyes met Geena's and the kindness and compassion in them broke something in him. Sudden tears welled up and he cupped his mouth with his trembling hand.

Geena pulled him against her chest and held him tight. "It's all right, Alec. Just let it go," she whispered into his ear. "You don't have to be alone any more, it's over."

When the tears ebbed away, she released him from her embrace. Cory had brought his pills and a glass of water.

Hardy locked eyes with the young man. "Is she happy?"

Cory looked at him for a long time. "We are. I'm not sure if she is though."

Hardy scrubbed his face down. "I know you don't want to get in the middle of things, but could you tell her something for me? Please?"

"It depends," Cory conceded.

"Tell her…" Hardy's voice faltered. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Tell her, I'm sorry I left."

Cory tilted his head. "Okay. I can do that. She knows you're here anyway. Maybe you should call her?"

"I do that all the time," Hardy sighed and shrugged. "She still doesn't pick up, even after we had dinner together," he added sorrowfully.

Cory gave him another thoughtful look and said, "Don't give up."

Hardy's lips curled up to a sad smile. He took Cory's hand and patted it. "Never."

Then he inhaled deeply, turned to the laptop and grumbled, "So, how does this bloody virtual rental thing work?"

Cory grinned and an hour later they had picked out a few options for Hardy to look at.

* * *

It was Monday and Hardy found himself in a train to Sandbrook. He didn't like trains, but he'd promised himself that he could do this alone. Not because Duncan or Geena were not willing to help, but because he needed to take charge of his life.

He squinted at his mobile, scrolling through his contacts to see if he still had the number of some of the Sandbrook car services. He quickly found what he was looking for - _'Miles For Rent'_ used to be the most reliable one despite the stupid name. He was about to put the phone away when his eyes caught the next name on his list - _Miller._ He shook his head at his own idiosyncrasy of not putting her first name into his phone. He hovered over the edit button and then in a moment of weakness amended the info with _'Ellie'._

"Ellie," he said, trying out the unfamiliar syllables. "Miller," he contrasted it. He did that a few times until the elderly lady sitting opposite him bent forward, put a hand on his knee, and asked,

"Are you all right, son? You seem a bit… I dunno, confused."

Hardy's gaze snapped up and he stared at her with wide eyes. He felt his cheeks and ears heating up when he realized that he must have appeared like an utter looney, talking to himself. The old lady smiled and winked at him.

"Who's Ellie?" she wanted to know with a spark of curiosity in those ancient eyes.

"I work with her, well used to. I mean she's a colleague, well more like a friend. A good friend, maybe? Ach, I dunno," he ended, entirely flustered by his inability to adequately put into words who Ellie was to him.

"Ah, is that so," the old lady said knowingly and her smile grew wider. Hardy had no idea what it was that she knew, just that it sounded like she had some deeper insights that were clearly eluding him. Bloody detective, he was. Couldn't even figure out old ladies any more. Hardy scratched his eyebrow and shrugged.

"So, are you going to talk to her?" the old lady asked.

"What?" he wheezed.

"Well, you know call her," she encouraged him, pointing at his phone.

"Why?" he squeaked.

She clambered to her feet, patted him on the shoulder and stated warmly, "Because you like her, son." She left a dumbfounded Hardy behind.

Hardy stared after her, clutching his phone tightly. He almost fell over when the thing buzzed in his hand. His eyes wandered to the display that stated he had a message from _'Ellie Miller'_.

 **Are you still in Cardiff or have you dropped off the face of the Earth yet?**

He hadn't been in touch since he had texted her that he was going to stay with a friend. The letters of the message flickered in front of his eyes and his fingers twitched. He should write back. Or maybe…

Before he could change his mind, he hit the call symbol instead of typing a reply.

"Hardy? Everything okay?" came the quick and worried response.

Hardy rolled his eyes. Why did everyone think these days that there was something wrong with him when he rang them?

"Everything is fine, Miller," he sighed.

There was a loud crash in the background and Miller cursed colorfully. Then she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Fred, get your hands out of the cupboard. Now! Or I'll take your bear and put him into the wash."

Hardy was impressed by the threat in Miller's tone. It reminded him of the day she had expressed her strong desire for him to crash her car and have a heart attack. Wee Fred must have built up some immunity against his mother though. There was a wailed protest and another clang. "Oh, for God's sake," she cursed and he pictured her storming through the house, chasing her toddler. When another scream and then sobbing indicated that Fred had lost the battle, Hardy figured it might be safe to resume the conversation.

"So, what about you? Everything okay?" he asked as innocently as he could.

"Oh, bloody hell, Hardy. Stop trying to be smart with me," she chastised him and he grinned. "Where are you? Sounds noisy," she added curiously.

"I'm in a train," he replied.

"And?" she prompted after the silence drew out.

"To Sandbrook," he mumbled.

"And?" she asked again when he didn't continue.

"There is no _'and'_. I'm in a train to Sandbrook," Hardy stated bluntly.

"Jesus, Hardy. Tom's easier to talk to than you are, and he's a teenaged boy who hated his mother up until recently," she snapped at him.

Hardy pinched the bridge of his nose. It always puzzled him why he had no trouble keeping up a conversation with murderers in the interrogation room, but couldn't hold one with the people around him. Something about what she'd said bugged him.

"He didn't hate you," he told her firmly. "Don't think that. 'S more complicated than that."

"And how would you know?" she retorted, her anger barely hidden.

Hardy groaned. He had forgotten that he had never told Miller a lot about Daisy.

"I know because before I came to Broadchurch the last thing my daughter said to me was 'I hate you'," he admitted, his Scottish accent roughening up his words.

There was silence on the other end. Hardy closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat. This conversation wasn't going as he had planned.

"Why did she hate you?" Miller eventually wanted to know.

"Miller, I don't wanna talk about it," he growled. It was too late though. Miller couldn't let go.

"Seriously, Hardy? You called me after all. I'm going to hang up, because you're being stupid," she threatened him.

Hardy exhaled deeply. "Please don't. It's…," he trailed off. He scraped together all the courage he could muster to face his demons. "Daisy read the newspapers when the trial fell apart. She…," Again he broke off. It was too hard to put into words what had been eating away at him for the last year or so.

"It's all right. We don't have to do this," Miller gave in. Hardy wasn't sure, but he thought she sounded disappointed.

"'M sorry for being such a bloody knob," he apologized sincerely. He tried to remember when he had _talked_ to a woman the last time who wasn't cheating on him or hiding a murder conspiracy from him. It had been a while.

"Let's try this again," Miller suggested. The corner of his mouth curled up. The tone in her voice reminded him of the time when she had tried to cheer him up after the _"Worst Cop in Britain"_ story had hit the papers.

"You tell me the first thing that comes to your mind and I stop nagging you," she continued.

Not giving it any thought, he blurted out, "Daisy has a _boyfriend_!" His horror was more than apparent and Miller giggled on the other side.

"Oh, great, you find that funny," he growled.

"Well, it sort of is. Did you pass out when you found out?" Her question was meant as a joke. She had no idea. He stayed mute.

"God, you did, didn't you? Unbelievable," she exclaimed.

"What do I do, Miller?" he whined. "She's fifteen and I haven't been part of her life and now she's _dating_ this boy who isn't a boy at all any more. In fact he's grown into a man and –"

"You _know_ her boyfriend?" Miller's amused voice had taken on a curious tone.

"Aye. He's my oldest friend's son. They've been playing with each other since they were wee children."

Miller giggled. "Oh, they've been _playing_ with each other, ey?" she teased.

"What? God no! Will you stop it! 'S not funny!"

Miller laughed. And despite being utterly mortified, Hardy's heart warmed when he heard her being so _happy_.

She finally calmed down and asked, "How did Daisy take it when you displayed your fatherly love by passing out on her?"

"Erm… it wasn't her who told me," he admitted.

"Oh." After a few heartbeats, she added, "You're in trouble, you know that, right? When I was a teenager my dad found out that I had a boyfriend before I had a chance to tell him and I was livid."

Confused, Hardy frowned. "Why?"

"Because teenaged girls don't like it when their fathers get all overprotective," she stated as if he should have known this all along.

"I'm not overprotective," Hardy argued. He only sacrificed his career and his life for the well-being of his daughter. No, definitely not overprotective. What's a boyfriend compared to that? _Hardy, you're a moron_ , he scolded himself.

"You're kiddin'. You took the blame for your ex-wife's major fuck up that ruined a double homicide investigation in order to save your daughter from the fall out, and you're telling me you're not overprotective?" Miller had a point, he couldn't deny it.

"If you say so," he pleaded guilty to the obvious.

"Does Daisy know all this?" Her curiosity was apparent.

"About the boyfriend?" He deliberately misunderstood her.

"No, Hardy, about the case and what really happened," Miller sighed into the phone.

"Why do you think she hates me?" The resignation in his voice was almost as bad as the pain.

"I see," Miller said. "I'm sorry, Alec," she added, her voice carrying way too much warmth and compassion to be bearable. Even his bloody name sounded soft.

"Please don't," he breathed into the phone, passing his hand over his moist eyes.

"Are you going to see her?" she continued her interrogation. Hardy couldn't tell if he was annoyed or touched by the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in him.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. "No." His shaky voice gave away his emotions with that one syllable.

"You have to tell her. The press is going to be all over this and she shouldn't find out from the papers," Miller urged him. As if he needed another reminder. Last time his daughter had read about him in the news it had ended with them not talking for a year.

"She doesn't answer my calls, Miller. How am I supposed to meet her?"

"But you had dinner together. Why would she not talk to you?" Miller sounded surprised.

It was time to come clean. Miller wouldn't let that one go. "Ellie, with the exception of that dinner, I haven't talked to my daughter in over a year. The last time she called me was to tell me how much she hates me and that I'm dead to her." He paused and snorted into the phone. It had been so ironic to receive that phone call when he had just discharged himself from yet another hospital stay.

Tonelessly, he continued his confession, "I didn't hear from her in months. I got one text for my birthday and then we bumped into each other in a tearoom in Sandbrook right after Christmas. That was it until that dinner when you came with me that weekend."

It took her a while to answer. When she finally did, he couldn't place the sentiment that was reverberating in her soft voice.

"So this whole time you've been ill, she had no idea? Did you even get a chance to talk to her before the surgery?"

"No, never got a chance to tell her. She doesn't know, how close -" he stopped before he could reveal too much. Miller had seen him at his worst, but she still didn't know how bad off he had been, especially in these past months.

"You know, about what you said to me in that letter, to do everything to get Tom back. I think it's time for you to take your own advice to heart."

Hardy snorted. That was exactly his problem. He couldn't take things to heart because he'd done it too often in the past.

"God, Hardy, why do you have to be like that," Miller complained.

"What's that supposed to mean - like that?" he grumbled.

"Like that bloody difficult. You're such a fuck wit at times. Can't anything ever be easy with you?"

"No," he stated bluntly. "I don't do easy."

"So you don't do happy and you don't do easy. What else is left? Oh, I forgot the arsehole broody schtick. You should come back to Broadchurch, we've got some excellent cliffs to stare off at the horizon from. Works well for wankers like you," she threw at him. He wasn't sure why she was so angry all of a sudden.

"Why're you mad at me? What did I ever do or say to make your life harder?" As soon as they had slipped his tongue, he regretted his words.

' _It was Joe.'_ That was what he had said.

There was silence on the other end.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he apologized.

"Don't call me Ellie," she snarled and he flinched at the harshness in her voice.

"'M sorry, Millah," he mumbled, his Scottish accent creeping up on him.

"I think I need to get off. Fred's been suspiciously quiet."

He knew it was an excuse, but he didn't have it in him to call her out on it. Maybe one day, she'd not shy away from him and open up about what happened to her. Today wasn't the day.

"It's all right. We don't have to do this," he echoed her words from before.

"Hardy, listen, it's not -"

"Ellie, it's fine. Really, it is. I know how it feels," he interrupted her before she could make things harder on both of them.

"I guess you do," she said quietly. Then she took in a deep breath. "You never told me why you're going to Sandbrook."

A small smile flicked over his face. "I'm going there to get a bollocking. And also to find a place of my own."

"A bollocking? I wish I could see that. Who's the lucky person who gets to yell at you?" She sounded more cheerful and Hardy was happy about that. He'd gladly accept being made fun of if that could put her at ease.

"I have a doctor's appointment with my cardiologist who's been with me since I found out about my heart condition. She's been waiting for two years for me to get that bloody pacemaker placed," he explained.

"I thought it's not a condition?" she teased. He rolled his eyes. "Hardy, are you rolling your eyes?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm not."

"Knob."

"Millah!"

He grinned and for whatever reason he was convinced she was doing the same.

"I should go, the train's pulling into the station. Gotta call a car," he said. He didn't want to, but it seemed fitting to end the conversation with her calling him a knob.

"What, you haven't found anyone else to drive you around?"

"Nope. Nobody seems as qualified as you are."

"Oh, thanks a lot. I'll put that on my growing list of accomplishments for my epitaph. _Ellie Miller - former detective and taxi cab driver - She did the best she could_ ," she spat.

"Still better than _Alec Hardy - Worst Cop in Britain - He had a shit plan_ ," Hardy replied, shrugging.

She giggled. "He had a shit plan - I like that. It fits. I'll talk to you soon, Hardy."

Hardy smiled. "Take care of yourself, Miller. And talk to you soon." He had all intention of doing so.

He looked up and into the eyes of the old lady that had spoken to him before. He had been so distracted by his conversation with Miller that he hadn't noticed her coming back to their seat.

Her eyes twinkled when she said, "I was right. You do like her."

He blushed. "I do," he admitted more to himself than to her.

"Good for you, son. We all need people in our lives who we like. And maybe one day you'll figure out if it's Miller or Ellie or both," she remarked and patted his knee again.

He nodded, mouth slightly open. Maybe he would.


	6. Chapter 5 - Closing Out The Tab

**A/N:** A big thank you to my two editors LILY_DRAGON and HAZELMIST. The Alec Hardy saga continues... a reminder for those who haven't read "A Million Holes" – Emily is Alec's longtime cardiologist and Baxter is Hardy's former boss and friend. Both suffered through the Sandbrook case with Hardy. Happy reading! Comments are always welcome :-)

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – Closing Out The Tab**

Ellie put down the phone and proceeded to chase after Fred. The suspicious silence had indeed been a sign of nothing good. The toddler had found dish soap and stealthily squirted it all over the kitchen floor, and then had left a trail on the stairs while retreating to the safety of his room. Ellie didn't notice until she slipped and nearly killed herself.

"For God's sake," she groaned, rubbing her backside. If Alec Bloody Hardy hadn't called her, this wouldn't have happened. It was obviously his fault. _Wanker_. It was easy to blame it all on him, he didn't talk back much. She didn't even know why she was so angry at him. As he had said, what had he ever done to her?

 _It was Joe._

When she had woken up in the wee hours of the morning, reliving the worst moment of her life, he'd been there. Like he was almost every night, shattering her world over and over again. She'd talked to her therapist about it because there was a pang of guilt that she had turned Hardy into the boogeyman that he clearly wasn't. Apparently, this was normal. Humans lacked the ability to separate the message from the messenger. This information didn't help her much. She wanted to eliminate Hardy from her nightmares, but thus far he'd been as stubborn in her dreams as he was in real life.

"Knob," she muttered and continued to scrub away at the soap. She crawled through the whole kitchen on all fours and up the stairs until she'd gotten rid of the last trace of Fred's adventure. She wished she could be as thorough with the rest of her life; wipe away all the slimy stickiness, and all that would be left was a shining fresh start.

Hardy seemed to be able to do it. Or at least he pretended to. They had both dodged the dangerous waters of their past during their conversation. He'd made an effort to talk about it though. Maybe he did understand her more than she was willing to admit. Her anger at him had disappeared with the last bit of soap she'd scrubbed off the top step. As he had said, they'd made it through. Barely, but they had. And now it was time to pick up the pieces.

Her eyes fell on her phone. She grabbed it and dialed a number. When she was greeted by Beth's warm voice, she smiled. She had her friend back.

* * *

Hardy barged through Emily Abbott's office door. Sweat pooled in his armpits and on his forehead. The bloody taxi cab driver had gotten lost and had made Hardy late for his appointment. Panting, he fetched up against the receptionist desk.

The woman looked up and gave him a blank stare. "Can I help you?"

"Alec Hardy. For Dr. Abbott," Hardy grunted. He'd been here often enough that the woman should recognize him.

She took off her reading glasses and squinted at him. At first, there was no spark of recognition in her eyes, and Hardy felt more and more uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"Do I need to show you my driving license to prove who I am?" It might have been his disgruntled Scottish accent that jogged her memory because it finally clicked.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mr. Hardy. Didn't recognize you there for a moment." Her apologetic smile was genuine, but it didn't escape Hardy's attention that she had hidden her shock at how much he had changed physically. He sighed inwardly. On the upside, there was no need to be afraid of random people on the street recalling the copper who had let the child murderer walk free.

While he waited, he idly wondered if Emily would have the same reaction. Since he had moved to Broadchurch, he had only seen her twice. He didn't want to think about their last encounter this past Christmas when he had come closer to dying than ever before. Things were different now though, or at least he kept telling himself so. He tipped his head back and his eyes automatically drifted to the familiar ceiling tiles. Silently, he began to count. It filled him with a sad sense of satisfaction that he still remembered the correct number.

* * *

Charles Davis's email to Emily had come as a surprise. She hadn't expected to hear from Hardy's current cardiologist, and certainly not with the news that the pacemaker insertion had been successful. She didn't know if she should cry or laugh. Since Christmas, when he had stumbled off of Death's doorstep yet again, she hadn't heard from him. And neither had Ed Baxter. The date that Hardy's procedure had been scheduled for had come and gone, and she had wondered what had happened. He'd survived against all odds.

She took a moment to skim through the chart before entering the exam room. The nurse had noted a resting heart rate of a hundred beats per minute with no variation, indicating that Hardy's heart was run entirely by the pacemaker. Emily frowned. It seemed a bit fast to her to set the pacing that high, but then she hadn't been there to see how Hardy was doing. She glanced over the rest of the numbers and got stuck on his weight. It surely couldn't be right.

The second Emily walked in, she realized that her nurse hadn't made a mistake. Hardy's face was haggard, and he was so shockingly thin that Emily had difficulty hiding how horrified she was. She hesitated for a brief moment and their eyes met.

"I made it through," he declared solemnly. And then suddenly, wiping away all gravitas, a gorgeous smile played over his face that Emily had never seen before. "I made it through," he said again, this time with a sparkle in his eyes and an exuberant ring to his voice.

She smiled back and gestured for him to lie down. "You did," she reaffirmed happily. She opened his shirt and was taken aback how prominent his ribs were. Her hands hovered over his chest, ready to place the ECG stickers.

"Emily, you're staring," he commented softly.

Her eyes wandered up to his worn face and met his tired eyes. "Oh, Alec. What did you do to yourself? You're just skin and bones." There was a tremble in her voice, and she cursed herself that she had gotten too emotionally involved.

He huffed. "I didn't do anything. Dying slowly does that to you. You should have seen me a couple of weeks ago. I'm practically fat by now," he joked.

Emily didn't find that funny at all. In fact, it made her upset. Upset with herself and the obstinate man in front of her. And for the first time in her career, Emily got properly angry with a patient.

"You know what, Alec? You can keep your bloody sarcastic shtick to yourself." She dropped the ECG stickers and stepped away from the exam table. Hardy gave her a puzzled look. "You've been stubborn, reckless, and irresponsible with your health since I've known you. You made one excuse after the other when we had a window of opportunity to place the pacemaker. And I made the mistake of putting up with everything. But I think I'm done with it. I don't want to support this self-destructive behavior any more. I can't do it." She glared at Hardy. "I want you to leave."

Hardy turned grey and slowly sat up. He stared at her with eyes that had widened with her shocking words. Then he looked away and started picking at the paper on the exam table. The crinkly noise filled the room until Hardy spoke.

"I'm sorry, Emily. You're right. I should leave." He lifted his eyes and they met with hers. There was a plea in them. "I did follow through though with the appointment we made after Christmas. I didn't reschedule despite being in the middle of Joe Miller's trial. I kept it, no excuses this time. And I finally did have the bloody pacemaker put in." Despite knowing better, she listened quietly. Maybe he did show some remorse after all. She stepped closer and made him lie down again. He continued talking while she placed the ECG stickers.

"I've been trying to be good. I'm taking my medications and I make a point of eating and sleeping properly. I keep up with my doctor's visits, and the only reason why I haven't started with a cardiac rehab program is that I didn't know yet where I'll be living. I'm going to look at some places today though."

Emily wanted to believe him, but after everything that had transpired it was a hard sell. She didn't look at him, solely focusing on the squiggly print out of the ECG. His light touch on her elbow made her turn around.

"I need your help, Emily. Please?" he implored her. His eyes were shining, and she knew, if he started to cry, her resolve would melt. Then he unleashed his last weapon.

"I've talked to Daisy. She knows about the pacemaker."

Emily squinted at him. "Does she know about everything else?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I've only seen her once before the surgery, and then we talked on the phone right after. But it's a start. Wouldn't you say so?" The desperate tone in his voice longed for her to stoke that spark of hope he had kindled.

Emily took in the man in front of her. He was worn out and beaten down, maybe more so than he'd ever been. But there was also something else. He believed in a future. And he was willing to fight for it and do the work needed to pick up the pieces of his life. Emily smiled and put her hand on his tense shoulder.

Squeezing it gently, she said, "Yes, it is. And I'm glad you're doing better."

He relaxed under her touch and the hard lines around his mouth eased into a small smile. "Thank you," he breathed.

"You're welcome, Alec." She cleared her throat and swallowed around the lump that had been forming there. It was time to focus on matters of the heart she had more control over.

"So, how has the pacemaker been working out for you?"

Back to his usual grumpy self, he grunted, "Is it supposed to be this fast? I can't sleep. I mean not that I had been sleeping well before, but now it feels like I'm running a god-damn race all day and all night long."

"Dr. Davis informed me he had set it at a higher pace to support your heart completely. He was worried about how frequently you were passing out from the low heart rate. He also told me you discharged yourself before they could check on the settings to see if they need modification," Emily added admonishingly.

Hardy rolled his eyes and didn't say anything.

"I see. Did the ICD go off since the surgery?" she wanted to know.

"Aye. Three times," he admitted quietly. He blushed which made Emily wonder about the circumstances. When she asked, he turned bright red.

"Erm... the first time was after I climbed a cliff in Broadchurch."

"Seriously? You climbed a cliff immediately after surgery?" Emily's eyebrow went up. When she saw his sheepish face, she shook her head. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It was only a cardi... you know, the smaller thing." He faltered on the technical term, but Emily was pleased to hear that he knew that there was a difference.

"A cardioversion," she filled in. "What about the other two? Did you go run a marathon?"

"No. I got upset," he huffed.

"What made you so upset that your ICD went off?" She probably didn't want to know, but her morbid curiosity won.

"I got annoyed at my friend Duncan who was bugging me about how the pacemaker makes me _feel_." He shot her a piercing glare. "And before you ask – don't!" he added petulantly.

Emily filed that information away to be discussed at a later point. No use in riling him up more about the emotional impact the device had on him.

"What about the third time?" she asked instead. He fidgeted more with the crinkly paper and stayed mute. Her suspicion grew that whatever had triggered the last incident must have been truly embarrassing to him. Emily had to admit, she enjoyed seeing him squirm.

"Duncan's son confessed that he and Daisy are dating. My daughter's got a _boyfriend_!" he blurted out. The last word was uttered in sheer horror. Emily bit down on her lip to suppress the laughter that was welling up. When he told her that the ICD had delivered a full shock, and he had passed out from it, she lost the battle against her amusement.

Laughing, she said, "The fact that your teenaged daughter has a boyfriend sent you into cardiac arrest?"

"Oi, 's not funny," he grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Erm... yes, it is," she argued back, smirking.

"Why do all of you laugh about that?" he whined.

"Who's _'all of you'_?" Emily had a suspicion, but she wanted to hear it from him.

He glared at her and then muttered under his breath, "Women."

She had been right. "Because we all had dads at some point, Alec," she sighed.

"Don't patronize me. Bad enough that Miller did that, I don't need you to chime in," he complained.

Emily's ears perked up. This was a name she'd only seen in the newspaper. She wouldn't have expected Hardy to bring up a colleague, let alone to imply that he had told her about his upsetting paternal woes.

"Are you talking about Ellie Miller?" His reddening ears and his sheepish glance confirmed her speculation. "You told your former DS that your daughter is dating?" Emily asked in disbelief.

"I might have mentioned it," he conceded and chewed the inside of his rosy cheek. Emily turned to check his chart and hid a broad smile. She knew when to back off. He'd admitted to more than she'd thought possible. A warm feeling spread through Emily's belly. He'd made a friend.

Filing through the chart, her eyes fell on the echocardiography report. The warm feeling imploded into nothing when she realized what she was looking at. When she'd seen those numbers last, they had been so much better. She compared them to what Davis had sent her. There was a glimmer of hope that Hardy seemed to be recovering some, but overall it was clear that irreparable damage had been done.

A light touch on her shoulder shook her out of her thoughts. "Not good news then, ey?" he said with a sad smile. Their eyes met and she shook her head.

"Dr. Davis warned me that the little box doesn't fix it. And so have you in the past." He shoved his hands into his pockets and hung his head. "How bad is it, Emily?"

"Alec, how many cardiac arrests have you had since you left Sandbrook?"

He gazed at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. One of his hands crept up to his face, rubbing his heavy eyelids and then passing down his cheeks. "Three. Not counting those instances I passed out or had minor attacks," he informed her with a hollow voice.

Emily's breath hitched. She shouldn't have been surprised though. Still, three cardiac arrests in barely twelve months' time was impressive and not in a good way. They had left their marks.

"That bad then," he answered his own question. He blew out some air through his nostrils and continued, "I'm better though. Besides the fact that I feel like I'm on a treadmill constantly."

Emily jumped at the opportunity to change the topic. "I want to adjust the pacemaker, decrease the rate significantly. So we can use it as a failsafe only."

Hardy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let your heart set its own pace. It should do most of the work. That will allow your body to have more flexibility in regulating what it needs; like dropping the rate while you sleep and speeding it up when you're active. The pacemaker would only kick in when your heart slows down too much."

Hardy took in what she had said and he was mulling it over. "So, it wouldn't beat as bloody fast?"

"No. It shouldn't." His face brightened up at the prospect. "There is one drawback." His face darkened again. "Until we find the most appropriate setting you might feel faint right before the pacemaker kicks in. I want to start as low as it seems reasonable to see what you can do."

"Do what you think is right. That's why I came back to see you. Because I trust you," he said with conviction.

"Can I trust you though?" The words had escaped her mouth before she could think about them.

He found her eyes. "Yes, you can. No more hiding, no more dodging the truth," he promised. She believed him against her better judgement.

"All right then. We'll make the changes, and if you feel faint or weak, or worse, if you pass out, you call me right away to get it fixed."

He nodded his agreement.

When he left half an hour later, he had a bounce in his step that she hadn't seen in a long time, if ever.

* * *

Hardy cursed the taxi cab driver and hurried into the restaurant. Again, he was running late which didn't do anything to ease his tension. His eyes searched the room that was packed at lunch hour. The stuffy interior hadn't changed since he'd been here last and the smell of Italian culinary dreams wafted through the air. It was torture to come here. As soon as he had walked in, he had realized that most of his favorite dishes were off limits now.

His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he'd had with Emily. She had tried to hide her shock over his haggard and worn out appearance, but he'd noticed. His sorry attempt at distracting from the obvious had backfired, and she had been ready to kick him out. He couldn't blame her. He shared her sentiment of being fed up with his self-destructive behavior. She had threatened him before, but this time she had been serious. He deemed himself lucky that she had listened and had been willing to give him another chance. She had said that she was glad he was getting better. They didn't talk much about the fact that he would only be able to recover to a certain extent after all the damage he had done. Some scars would never heal.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and shook him out of his reverie. He startled, but his heart didn't budge in its artificial rhythm. A welcome change from before.

"Hardy! I didn't recognize you with that forest in your face. Are you going to do something about it?" Baxter's mouth was drawn into a broad grin. He didn't dilly-dally and pulled Hardy into a tight hug, involving more heavy shoulder patting. Hardy stiffened. This overt public display of affection was not what he had expected. Baxter let go of him and laughed at his stunned face.

"You're acting like I did something naughty to you. Seriously, Alec, you need to loosen up a little, or that bum ticker of yours is going to explode." Baxter dragged him over to his table, pushed him on a chair, and sat down with a big huff. He leaned over and tapped on Hardy's chest.

"How's the upgrade working out for you?" Baxter's eyes sparkled.

Hardy lifted his eyebrows and wondered if anyone was ever going to ask him something else.

"Fine. Takes a bit getting used to it." Talking about the device that was nestled under his left collarbone left him feeling awkward. Its weight remained unfamiliar, as were all the things it could do to his body. Since Emily had made the changes earlier, he had made acquaintance with a new experience he could do without – the sensation right before his heartbeat was taken over by the pacemaker was rather disconcerting to say the least. All of it was worth it though. He had more energy and could actually walk around without being afraid of falling over any minute.

He finally smiled. "It's good to see you, Ed. Wasn't so sure if - no, when - we'd meet again last time I saw you." Baxter shot him a glance and hid his worry quickly.

"I'm glad you got it done. God, you're so incredibly stubborn. Unbelievable." He shook his head. "Let's get some food in you. Some things never seem to change. You're nothing but skin and bones. Is it still only rabbit food for you?"

Hardy nodded. "Aye, rabbit food it is. Why's everybody so obsessed with my boyish figure today? And for the record, I've already put on weight since the operation."

Baxter's expression turned serious. "Good. Because that whole _'I'm-at-Death's-door'_ image really doesn't suit you well. It's a bit unnerving. You know you had us worried sick, don't you?"

Hardy studied the menu intently. He couldn't look his friend and former boss in the eye, knowing what he had put him through. He had been there for him in his darkest hours and how had he repaid this debt? By slowly letting life destroy him, too tired and worn out to put up a fight until it was almost too late.

"Quit whatever you're thinking right now, Alec. I can see the guilt dripping off of you. You really have a thing for that, don't you? As I've told you before, shit happens in life and then you deal with it. It's over now, no need to dwell on it. And God knows, you've done enough dwelling to last two lifetimes. It's time to move on."

Baxter put his hand on Hardy's, drawing his friend's attention to him. There was encouragement in his gray-blue eyes and complete forgiveness. Hardy swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"Thank you, Ed. I don't know if I deserve –" Baxter interrupted him immediately.

"Seriously, Alec? I told you to get off the guilt trip. There is nothing you have to apologize for and you deserve what every other human being deserves; compassion and love from the people around you. You tend to forget that. I'm reminding you now, and then I want to have lunch and talk about happier things." Baxter snapped the menu shut and signaled the waiter.

"You're having real food today. I'm ordering for you." Baxter didn't leave room for discussion and Hardy gave in to letting someone take care of him. It felt odd after all these months of fighting for himself and being lonely.

The only person who seemed to have given a shit about his sorry arse was Ellie Miller. He smiled thinking about them eating together, sharing a bed, her endless bickering when he had shamelessly abused her as chauffeur, and waking up to her lovely face in the hospital. Twice. And that hideous coat. A chuckle escaped his mouth.

"Whoa, hold on! Did you utter a sentiment of amusement? Blimey, where did that come from?" Baxter teased him, his face gleaming with curiosity.

"Nowhere. It's nothing. Just thinking about someone." Hardy knew he had made a mistake as soon as Baxter leaned in and asked him with a low conspiratorial voice.

"Who is she? Tell me now, which incredible woman could get through to _'I've-got-a-stick-up-my-arse'_ Hardy's dodgy heart?"

Hardy's stare could have killed Baxter. "It's not what you think. She's…" He faltered. He didn't know what Ellie Miller was. Not a colleague. Perhaps a friend, but that didn't quite describe her either. Their interactions had felt more like those of battle comrades, something forging them together that he couldn't put in words. They had witnessed each other's lives falling apart, in fact he'd significantly contributed to hers going to shit. And then she saved him. Whereas he couldn't do the same for her. He had failed her.

"It's that woman from Broadchurch, isn't it? The one that helped you solve the case," Baxter asked gently, not to probe, but to help him through the conversation.

All that Hardy could do was nod. His emotions were confusing him more so than usual. He hadn't seen Miller since he had left her the letter. This morning's phone call had been a spectacular reflection of their relationship. There had been prickly bickering, refreshing name calling, awkward moments of silence, and of course avoiding painful topics. All in all a very successful chat. It had been fun.

"I irritate her." Hardy grinned and trailed his finger around a water stain in the tablecloth. "She used to hate me. I took her job, can't really blame her for that." He paused, contemplating how upset Miller had been when they had only grazed the topic of Joe's arrest. Hardy would always be the messenger. Sighing, he went on, "Maybe she does hate me after all. Who can tell, this woman is unknowable. She threatened to piss in a cup and throw it at me… also hurled her car keys at me and said she'd wish I'd crash while having a bloody heart attack… so rude... granted, maybe I shouldn't have questioned what the point of her being around is… got mad at me because I couldn't eat those damn chips she brought me… she's got this awful orange jacket, hideous… her wee one, Fred, is a sweet boy… and she never let me comfort her, well not until I came back to hug her."

He had to take a breath. Baxter almost fell off of his chair with laughter.

"Bloody hell, Hardy, I haven't heard you ramble like this in a long time. It's sort of endearing." Hardy whacked him on the arm, smiling and his eyes crinkling up at their corners.

"She's rather something though. Great detective too. You would like her." With a shrug, he added, "I guess everyone likes Miller."

"You still call her Miller. You're unbelievable. I hope she calls you Alec in return because you deserve it." Baxter wiped a few tears off his cheeks.

Hardy groaned and closed his eyes. He would never live this down. And as much as he wanted Baxter to meet Ellie, he was deathly afraid of what the two together would do to him. His pacemaker would probably fry his feeble heart before he could even introduce them. He was saved by the arrival of their food, the universe for once showing mercy on him.

* * *

Their lunch was spent in amicable conversation. Baxter filled Hardy in on his family's latest news. Emma was at university, and much to Baxter's chagrin, was getting married soon. Not that he wasn't happy for his daughter, but the idea of giving her to another man didn't sit well with him. When Baxter joked about Daisy and boys, Hardy froze.

"Oh, come on Hardy. Can't be that bad, you'll get over it." Baxter frowned when Hardy's face turned a light shade of slate. Concerned, he noted his friend's eyes glazing over and his breathing becoming heavier. Hardy's fork clattered on the plate, slipping through his limp fingers. He slumped forward, barely catching himself on the table.

"Jesus, Hardy. Are you all right? What the hell is going on?" Baxter moved forward quickly, steadying Hardy in his chair. Then Hardy flinched ever so slightly and his eyes focused, followed by color returning to his face. Panting, he fumbled through his pockets to produce a blister pack with pills, popped two out, and washed them down with water.

"Sorry, Ed." His voice was weak and a little slurred. He was trying to smile. "They're figuring out the proper settings for the pacemaker. It was making my heart go too fast. I saw Emily today, and she changed something. Maybe now it's waiting too long to take over. Dunno, it's complicated...," he trailed off, staring into space.

Baxter wasn't sure what to say, which was rare for him. Memories of Hardy leading the Sandbrook investigation floated through his mind. It had taken him a while to nail down his then DI and get him to admit that he had a serious health problem. And then Hardy had nearly died on him after he had found out about his ex-wife's grave mistake. That day had been anything but pleasant. Baxter had hoped to see Hardy sound and healthy again, now that he had cleared his name and the Sandbrook killers were apprehended, but the man who was sitting in front of him was far from that. He was trying to get there though, and that was all that counted in the end. They both knew it hadn't always been like that.

Hardy picked at the remains of his lunch, lost in his own world. He had hardly eaten anything. Baxter wondered how bad he must have been if this was what he looked like _after_ he had gained weight since he closed the case. His shirt and jacket appeared to be one size too big on him. Baxter couldn't deny that he had been a little shaken when he first saw him walk into the restaurant. He was taken aback by Hardy's haggard figure and the pale face that was poorly hidden behind that awful beard. It tugged at his heart to see him like that, but he knew from his experience with his daughter that it took time to recover. He would be more than happy to support his old friend in the process. It certainly beat dragging his half-dead body around.

"I'm going to order you some dessert. Maybe sweets are more up your alley," Baxter declared more cheerfully than he felt.

Hardy rolled his eyes at him. "Not supposed to eat chocolate."

"Who says, it's chocolate? They have the best apple pie here. It's fruit, totally qualifies as rabbit food." He grinned at Hardy's exasperated look and was happy to see that there was some of the old fire hiding behind those tired eyes.

* * *

Surprisingly, Hardy wolfed down the pie and even ate the ice cream. Baxter made a mental note that his friend had a sweet tooth and watched him with a pleased smile. Hardy's phone buzzed and when he glanced at the number, his face turned pale and then bright red within a matter of heartbeats.

"Do you mind if I…?" Hardy's voice was strained. If he didn't know him better, Baxter would have said he was nervous.

"No, not at all. Go ahead." He was curious who it was. Maybe the mystery woman from Broadchurch? Wouldn't that be amusing?

"Hello darlin'."

There was only one person in the world that Hardy called _'darlin'_ and that was his daughter. To whom he had barely talked to for the last year or so. For whom he had sacrificed everything.

The phone pressed tightly to his ear, Hardy turned away from the table, undoubtedly to hide his face.

"No, I'm not busy. 'S fine. I'm having lunch with Ed Baxter." There was a smile.

"I know, he told me about it… aye, I'll do that." A brief pause, and a deep breath. "Daisy, is anything the matter? You haven't called me in ages…"

He was trying not to sound hurt, but it was obvious. He shifted in his chair, straightening himself up. His face was a canvas of rapidly changing emotions. Surprise turned into excitement, swiftly followed by a frown and a more than anxious look.

"We're at the Italian place on Main Street, the one we used to go to together." Hardy shot a quick glance at Baxter. "No, I don't think he would mind. Fifteen minutes? All right, we'll be here. Love you, darlin'," he concluded quietly.

Hardy placed down the phone carefully as if Daisy was still there and stared at it. His elbows rested on the table and he weaved his fingers into each other. Then he dropped his head and raked them through his shaggy hair.

When he finally spoke, his gravelly voice was thick with his Scottish accent. "She hasn't called me in over a year. Never picks up her phone. I've only seen her twice since –" He broke off. Baxter didn't need to ask what he was referring to. "She says she wants to talk about something." Hardy looked up, eyes wide, like a trapped and scared animal.

"What do I do, Ed? There have been so many lies. She must be so mad at me." His hands were trembling and he was breathing heavily.

For a moment, Baxter was worried about his fragile health, only to realize that although this was a matter of the heart, it wasn't the kind his pacemaker could fix.

"Talk to her, Alec. She came to you. I'd say that's a sign she's ready to face things. No more lies, no more half-truths. Be honest with each other. Don't take the blame for things that you didn't do. You've got a bad habit of doing so. What happened is done and over with. Can't change anything. You made your choices, and you should stand by them. Even if some of them were rather stupid."

Baxter raised his eyebrow and Hardy shot him a piercing glare.

"You know why I did what I did. And yes, it might not have been my most cunning plan. Clearly it backfired. Believe me, I paid the price. I'm _still_ paying it." He spat the last words. Baxter was pleased to see he had been able to rile Hardy's temper. He had been worried it was lost.

"Maybe it's time to change that. Time to close out the tab and move on. I can see you're trying, and this is part of it. It's a _good_ thing, Alec. It might be painful, but knowing you and Daisy, I'm confident that the two of you will work it out." He nodded encouragingly, putting a reassuring hand on Hardy's shoulder.

Hardy nodded, his mouth slightly open. "I hope you're right, Ed." He paused, pressed his lips together and swallowed.

"Would you mind… would you mind waiting with me? Be there when she comes?" He looked so forlorn, and Baxter's heart was aching for this man who had been through hell. But he had made it back, or at least was on his way. The memory of a cold December night so many years ago flickered through his mind, when he had asked Hardy a very similar question to keep him company when he believed his child was dying.

"Of course I will. And contrary to what you may think, you're not alone. If you need me, I'm here, Alec. For anything." Hardy's eyes glittered with the tears he was trying to hold back. He muttered a "thank you". Baxter was tempted to give him another hug, but that might have been pushing the younger man too much. He did it anyway.


	7. Chapter 6 - Lies and Omissions

**A/N:** Thanks everyone for commenting. Alec is waiting for Daisy... (see more notes at the end)

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – Lies And Omissions**

Hardy's anxiety was rising. He kept checking his phone. Daisy should be here any minute now. He hadn't seen her since the dinner with her mother. When he had thought that it might be the last time he would spend time with her. When Ricky Gillespie had humiliated and threatened him right in front of her. And Tess had watched without saying a word. He still didn't know if it had been her who had told Ricky where they were meeting. But how else would he have known.

Daisy had said there was something she needed to know, that she had some questions for him. She hadn't shared what it was or why now. He tried to calm himself, but to no avail. He didn't want to be bothered by the uncomfortable feeling of his heart beating too fast, fearing the excruciatingly painful shock that the ICD would deliver if his heart were to go to shit. Doubling over in pain wasn't exactly how he pictured a reunion with his estranged daughter.

Baxter was wittering on about something, bravely attempting to distract him from his brooding thoughts. Hardy wished that he'd succeed. He was tired of being stuck in the repetitive cycle of failure leading to guilt, leading to pushing people away, leading to loneliness, leading to an even greater feeling of having failed as a human being. For that matter, he was tired of feeling tired. He groaned at how ludicrous this was. Baxter frowned at him and Hardy shrank under the scrutinizing stare.

"Pull yourself together, man. You have a habit of dying on people when you get upset. Don't want that to kick in right now. She's your daughter and you love her. And I'm sure she loves you. I'm not gonna lie, it won't be easy, but then nothing's ever easy with you."

Baxter's hand landed on his shoulder. The temptation to shrug it off was strong. Hardy didn't though, remembering how Ellie used to shrug away his timid attempts at comforting her. It had made him feel so inadequate when she had blown him off like that. He wanted to let people back in his life, and if that meant enduring a few more manly hugs from Baxter, so be it.

"Hi, Dad."

He jumped on his chair, incapable of suppressing the reaction. His heart was pounding in his chest, steadily though. He stood up quickly, turning around. There she was, long reddish-brown hair flowing around her beautiful face. Her smile was shy, but reflected in her eyes. And before he knew it, he pulled her close and embraced her. She was taller now, but still short enough for him to breathe a kiss on the top of her head. Smelling her familiar scent, feeling that familiar body in his arms made all his walls come tumbling down.

"Oh, darlin', I missed you so much." His voice trembled and he didn't even care. No more hiding.

"Soppy as always, I see. Not much changed there," she stated indignantly, her words muffled against his chest. He smiled. He caught Baxter's glance, and he could have sworn Baxter's eyes were moist.

He released Daisy from his arms, his hand lingering on her shoulder as he was unwilling to let go of her completely.

"Hello, Miss Daisy. Look at you, all grown up and pretty. Your Dad here will be busy fighting off all the boys at your doorstep." Baxter grinned widely, winking at her. "Are you coming to the wedding? Emma would be so happy. You could bring your old man, though I hear he's quite rubbish at dancing. Might be fun, ey?"

Daisy chuckled. "Actually he isn't. He knows how to waltz."

Baxter's mouth gaped open. "No way." He turned to Hardy who was bright red in the face. "I want to see proof."

Hardy rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. He took out the worn picture of him and Daisy at Duncan's wedding and placed it in front of his friend.

"Proof enough? Does that buy me an invitation?"

Baxter shot him a baffled stare. "Look at that, Alec Hardy, full time man of the law, part time ballroom dancer. You never cease to surprise me. I'll send you the invitation. But the two of you have to deliver."

Father and daughter exchanged a timid glance, both smiling and nodding.

"Right then. I'll leave you two to it. Gotta run back to work." Baxter gave Hardy another encouraging shoulder pat and off he went.

* * *

An awkward silence ensued. Hardy finally sat down, pulling a chair out for Daisy. She perched on the edge, not quite comfortable in her skin.

"Erm, you look nice, Daisy. Nice..." He swallowed before finishing the sentence with " ...shirt."

 _Really, Hardy?_ This was the best he could do? His heart was beating in his throat and his ears were burning.

Daisy stared ahead, studying the tablecloth and chewing on her bottom lip.

"Did you have lunch already? Or if you want dessert…," he trailed off.

"Thanks, Dad. I'm good. It's a little crowded in here, isn't it?" She was obviously nervous.

"Do you wanna go for a walk? The park's right around the corner," he suggested, relieved by the idea to go somewhere more private.

"Can you? I mean go for a walk." She sounded doubtful.

Hardy huffed, temper rising. "'Course I can. I'm not an invalid, Daisy." Crossing his arms, he looked up to the ceiling.

"And how would I know that? It's not like you've actually ever told me about your heart condition." She was as disgruntled as he was.

Hardy sighed. This was quickly going downhill. He had mellowed out when he reflexively said, "'S not a condition."

"Oh, really? What is it then? A minor nuisance? Because I don't think one can die from that." Her cheeks were bright red and an angry frown burrowed her forehead.

Hardy dragged his hands over his face and groaned.

"We're doing this all wrong," he muttered under his breath. Then he found his daughter's eyes. "Daisy, please. Let's go somewhere and talk." He was pleading and she finally relented.

"Fine. The park then." She grabbed her backpack and stormed out of the restaurant. He hurried to follow her.

She briskly walked down the sidewalk in the direction of the park entrance. He couldn't quite keep up with her. Recovery had been a slow process, and although he had more energy and stamina than a few weeks ago, there was no way he could hold the pace of an angry teenager.

 _Bollocks._ He had to stop and catch his breath. She was halfway down the block when she realized that her father had fallen behind. She turned around. Feeling her piercing stare, he sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself to make that step towards her. Slowly, he resumed walking.

And after a long moment, Daisy took a step back towards him.

When they met in the middle of the distance that separated them, she wordlessly tucked her arm under his and gently leaned on him. Together they went to the park.

* * *

They found a bench not too far away from the entrance. Hardy suspected that Daisy had picked it on purpose, not trusting him to go much further. They sat in silence for a while until Daisy spoke.

She didn't look at him. One leg tucked under, she leaned her back against his side. Hardy was bathing in the contentment of having her so close, closer than she'd been in years. It was hard to focus on staying afloat in all the emotions that were threatening to drown him.

"Mom said that while you were in Broadchurch, you were in hospital. Because of your heart. Before the surgery, I mean. Is that true?" Her tone was levelheaded, but Hardy knew she was hiding behind the put on detachment.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It was hard to resist the temptation to color the truth.

"Aye. I was. Why're you asking?" His quiet voice carefully concealed his inner turmoil. He cursed the day he'd had to tell Tess about those admissions. The morons at the NHS office had sent the bills to his old address, and he had promptly received an angry phone call from his ex-wife.

"Do you remember the exact dates?"

Hardy moved in order to get a look at her. He was confused that this was the reason she wanted to talk to him. Turning, she faced him. Her anxious expression underscored that something was bothering her.

"Please, Dad. Do you?"

Hardy was getting irritated with her insistence. "Daisy, I don't really see why dates would be so important."

"Can't you just answer? I need to know." Her voice was sharp now.

Hardy was taken aback by her apparent distress over the topic. His memory was somewhat foggy, as all of the days had blended together back then with not much to distinguish one from the other. He frowned and tried to remember the details. His collapse on Briar Cliff had been two days or so before he had arrested Joe, so that would make it mid-September. He couldn't recall the day when Ellie had invited him for dinner. It was before Jack Marshall's death, so maybe in mid-August? _God,_ he had been so out of it, barely keeping it together between working the case and watching Claire.

"Erm, still don't get why you need to know, but I think one of them was in the middle of September. Maybe around the 14th or 15th." He scratched the nape of his neck. "The other one, I really don't remember, maybe middle of August. Sorry, darlin'." He had tried.

She remained silent. Furrowing her brows, she chewed on her lower lip.

"Are you going to tell me why this is so important to you?" He observed her with wide eyes, curious and anxious at the same time.

She straightened herself, slowly twirling her phone in her hands. "I got a new mobile a couple of days ago. When they transferred my stuff, they asked me if I wanted to keep my old voice messages. I told them no, but one of the tech guys pointed out that there were a few that I had never even listened to."

She paused, finally looking him in the eye. She didn't have to tell him who had left the messages she hadn't touched. He had often suspected that this might have been the case, but getting it confirmed hurt more than he wanted to admit. He pressed his lips to a thin line and turned his face away. He didn't want her to see the pain that he couldn't hide from his expression. Or even worse, his tears.

With a trembling voice, she continued. "I told them to keep those messages and I listened to them. There was one that was…" She hesitated, struggling to find the words. "I dunno. It really got to me. It was from September 12th. When you were in Broadchurch. You probably don't even remember, you left so many." She abruptly stopped, as if she was aware of how pitiful that had sounded.

She was wrong though. Hardy did remember. In fact, he very much recalled that night he had recorded _that_ message. It was a few days before his cardiac arrest in the boat yard. His desperation had been growing, fueled by the stalled case and his rapidly declining health. An increasing number of episodes had strained his heart, and sleep had been elusive due to stress and nightmares. That evening, the loneliness had been crushing him, despite Ellie Miller's invitation to go out for drinks with the group. He had called Daisy, and at the end when he had said _'This is Dad, signing off'_ , it broke him, because he feared that those words could have been the last ones he'd ever say to his child.

He clasped his trembling hands and closed his eyes. Taking in a few breaths to brace himself, he waited until he thought he could trust his voice. It failed him regardless, breaking when he finally replied to her unspoken question.

"I do remember that call, Daisy." Her head jerked up and their eyes locked. Hers were glittering. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. "It's all right, darlin'. Please don't cry. As you said, it was only one of many." He kissed her hair.

"No, Dad. It wasn't. You were saying goodbye to me; even if you didn't intend to, you were. And you know it's true, I can see it in your eyes. You had an attack or whatever you call it a few days later, didn't you?" Tears were flowing down her cheeks. "What if you had died, and I would have never even listened to that message?"

Gently, he said, "I didn't though, and you did listen to it, even if it wasn't until now." There was no holding back. She sobbed in his arms, while he stroked her hair and back to comfort his only child.

He was as shaken as Daisy was. His heart trudged along in his chest, slower and slower. If it continued like that, the pacemaker would take over soon. He dreaded the moment, because if it was anything like earlier that day, it would scare Daisy, the one thing he didn't want to do. He was dizzy and his hands tingled, a sure sign that his heart was barely making it. Idly, he realized he should call Emily as she had instructed him. He was too far gone though. He closed his eyes, only for a moment, to gather himself. Or at least that was his intention.

Next thing he became aware of was Daisy violently shaking him and shouting "Dad" in his ear. A few other people had gathered around the bench. His breaths were ragged, but he recognized the more and more familiar artificial steadiness of the paced rhythm. His unfocused gaze didn't reassure Daisy that he was all right. He made an effort to formulate some words.

"'M fine, Daisy. The pacemaker kicked in a little late." His voice was too gravelly which wasn't helping to convince her. Her eyes were wide with panic and wet from the earlier tears. The nosy crowd dispersed as the show seemed to be over, and he was glad to have their privacy back. Taking her hand, he placed it over his heart.

"Can you feel it?" She nodded. "Nice and steady, exactly like it should be. Remember, no more broken heart, right?" He smiled and beckoned her to sit next to him.

Still holding her hand, he tried to explain. "I'm sorry that I scared you. This is not supposed to happen any more. I'll have to talk to my doctor. She made some changes this morning. We're figuring out the best settings for the pacemaker."

"Can you call her now and tell her about it? Maybe she can fix it right away?" She was panicking, and Hardy felt immensely guilty for what had transpired. He had to remind himself that she had never seen him like this before.

He fished out his mobile and scrolled through his contacts until he found Emily's number. He scratched his eyebrow with his finger, reluctant to make the call. One look at Daisy's worried face was all that it took. Also, Emily had sternly ordered him to get in touch immediately if he had another episode after the earlier adjustments. Once she found out that he hadn't called her until he'd had two in one day, she sure was going to give him the bollocking of a lifetime. He settled on sending her a text message, rationalizing he didn't want to interrupt her seeing patients during office hours. It was a good excuse not to actually have to talk to her in person in front of his daughter.

"She'll call back soon. She always does. Don't worry so much, darlin'. It used to be worse." As soon as he'd said the words, he realized how disturbing they sounded.

 _For God's sake Hardy, you're really in rare form today._

Daisy promptly snapped at him. "And how is that supposed to be comforting, ey? You could've died and I would have never even known what was going on with you. You lied to me, Dad." Her temper was flaring up. He was fine with that. He knew all about anger; he could handle that better than sorrow and panic.

Ashamed, he confessed, "I only lied once to you. About the car accident in Portsmouth."

Her face was bright red. "Oh my god! I knew it! I knew that there was something else going on. All those years I thought I was an idiot for doubting it because you and Mum kept lying to me. You better tell me right now what happened or I won't ever talk to you again!"

Hardy paled. He wasn't ready to tell her _everything_.

"Erm... I didn't have an accident, but I was in hospital during that time. I had..." He struggled to find an explanation that he couldn't give without telling her that her mother had nearly killed him with her careless behavior.

Her fiery eyes bore into his. "Don't you dare make something up! I talked to Mum before I came to meet you. She told me that you've been sick since before you left us."

Hardy cringed. She still believed that he was the reason the marriage had broken up. A tugging pain was working its way through his left arm towards his chest. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his shoulder. Daisy's angry scowl swam out of focus and he slumped to the side. _Bloody hell._ He clawed at the bench, frantically trying to hold on to solid ground. The world was spinning out of control. Then a hot stab jolted through him, and slowly he found his way back into the here and now.

He opened his eyes to Daisy's terrified face. Despite the ICD doing its job properly he needed his medication. His hands, however, were shaking too much to be of any use. He had no choice but to ask for help

"Darlin'," he wheezed, "My coat pocket... the pills... please."

Daisy hastily scrambled through his pockets until she found the blister pack. He held up two fingers.

She frowned. "Are there more? Different ones?" She sounded so young and scared.

"No. Two of those," he rasped. She fumbled with the foil. Once she'd gotten the tablets free she held them out in her palm. His trembling fingers couldn't hold on to them and they slipped to the ground. Exhausted, he slumped back onto the bench. His eyelids fell shut. He hated his weakness, but it had a firm hold over him.

"Dad, please open your mouth!" Daisy ordered him gently. He cracked his eyes open, and did as he was told. The bitter taste on his tongue was washed down with some water that she gave him. Her tall figure shadowed him from the sun's bright light every time she paced by him. After a few minutes, his body complied and his heartbeat improved.

She was still restlessly walking back and forth, her hands planted on her hips. The corner of Hardy's mouth curled up. She reminded him of himself.

"Sit. I'm better." He patted the area next to him that she had vacated. She stopped and plopped down on the bench.

"Is that what you meant by it used to be worse?" she asked roughly.

"Erm... sort of. Before I had the operation, I would have passed out, maybe needed to go to the hospital. The pacemaker and the other thing, the ICD, keep my heart in check." She shot him a dubious glance. "Mostly," he added.

"How did you find out?" There was curiosity in her voice, but also dread.

He inhaled deeply. It was time to come clean. "Do you know what a hereditary disease is?"

Daisy nodded, fixing her widening eyes at him. "Means you were born with it."

"Right. Turns out that I've had this heart arrhythmia my whole life. It's a genetic condition. I never had severe enough symptoms though until you were in hospital two years ago." He scrubbed his hands down his face, nauseated by the memory. "God, I had such a hard time seeing you so ill –"

"Is that what happened? I made you sick?" she interrupted him, an edge to her words.

Hardy recognized that tone in her voice and he shuddered. He couldn't allow his daughter to make the same mistakes that he had been making all along. The guilt had dug lines into her beautiful features instantaneously.

He took her hand. "No, Daisy. You mustn't believe that. Ever. You didn't make me sick."

Disbelief, fear, and anger were warring on her face. Hardy used the opportunity to go on with his confession.

"I wasn't doing well even before you got admitted. I just didn't know that it was my heart that was troubling me."

"How's that possible? You seemed fine. Out of shape, yes, but otherwise –"

"Daisy, I wasn't out of shape. My heart wasn't functioning properly." He smiled sadly at his daughter who was struggling with the truth. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There was a sudden spark in her eyes.

"You had a broken rib, Dad. What really happened while I was knocked out in the hospital?" she demanded to know.

Hardy closed his eyes when he told his daughter that his heart had stopped at her bedside. He couldn't face her. "They had to resuscitate me; do chest compressions and use the defibrillator."

"What? Like on TV? The thing where they shock someone?" she exclaimed incredulously.

"Yup," he confirmed meekly.

"No wonder you looked like shit when I woke up," she scoffed and snuggled closer. Hardy snaked his arm around her shoulders and forcefully expelled air through his nostrils. She had no idea that compared to many of his other cardiac arrests that one seemed rather tame. The thought of her finding out left him uneasy.

"Why didn't you say anything? Didn't you want to share with us?" Her words carried a hurt undertone.

He sighed. "At first, while you were sick and recovering, I couldn't. I didn't want to place the burden on you and your mother."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, that's so typically daft Dad, that I actually believe it."

A smile flickered over his face, but she didn't see it as her head was nestled against his chest. He breathed a kiss in her hair. "I meant to tell you and your mother after Duncan's wedding, but then the two girls disappeared and my life sort of fell apart from there."

Her body stiffened when he mentioned the Sandbrook case. She looked up, her hazel eyes dark with anger. "The two of you have been using this stupid case as an excuse for everything. I'm so sick and tired of hearing about it."

Hardy's stomach clenched. _'So many lives destroyed'_ was what he had said to Ellie. His heart had always been with the victims' families, but the reminder of how much it had affected his daughter's life, was worse than anything else. The pain was almost physical.

After minutes passed in silence, she asked, "Dad, if you didn't have a car accident, why were you in the hospital for a week?"

What was he going to tell her? He didn't want to lie, not again, but it wasn't the time for the truth either. His addled brain struggled to recall what she knew already.

"I got very ill by the end of the case, Daisy. And one day my heart gave out. It stopped beating for five minutes and they barely got me back." The simplicity of the words didn't alleviate the horror they conveyed.

Daisy moved away from him and stared him down. Her face was pale and her mouth pressed into a thin line. Her eyes grew darker and her piercing glare was hard to take. He resisted the urge to look away, but he crumpled under her gaze.

"You died. And you and Mum _never_ told me," she whispered. And then louder, "You fucking _died_. And I didn't even get to go to the hospital to see you." She jumped up from the bench. "Instead the two of you fed me some bull shit lie about a business trip." She spun around to face him. She was livid. "How could you lie like that? And then you _left_. Without ever explaining anything. Do you even have any idea how disrespectful this is? You treated me as if I don't matter, as if you didn't care. You were dishonest and disregarded me as a person." Her eyes were ablaze with all the pent up fury and hurt she'd had bottled up over the past two years. "You know what? Maybe I was wrong, maybe I do hate you after all. Maybe you should have died," she spat. She towered over him, panting in her anger.

Hardy was stunned. Her words assaulted him, hitting him at his most vulnerable spot. He shut down, and all he could think was that she was right. It would have been better if he'd died. After all, that had been the plan all along. But he had to go and even mess that up. He'd failed in every respect. A shiver ran through his body, followed by a choked gag. He cupped his mouth with his trembling hand, trying to hold back the nausea that was making him retch. His heart pounded up his throat and worsened the sick feeling inside. He managed to get to his feet and stumbled around the bench where he collapsed onto his knees and relieved himself of his stomach contents. His shirt was soaked in sweat and he was shaking, chilled to the bone. He didn't have the strength to get up and he didn't want to anyway. He was done. His daughter hated him and she wanted him dead. He could fulfill that wish, he'd had enough practice with dying over the past two years.

Strong hands pulled him up and back onto the bench. He was too weak to swat them away. Someone was talking to him, but he made no effort to focus. Nothing mattered any more.

A warm hand brushed his sticky hair out of his forehead. Then someone wiped down his face with a moist tissue.

"Dad? Can you hear me? Please talk to me." Daisy's voice seemed far away, barely breaking through the haze.

"I'm going to call an ambulance. Your dad really doesn't seem well," a woman said.

"No," he croaked. He wasn't going to the hospital. What would be the point of getting rescued yet again? Unfortunately the bloody pacemaker was doing its job, and his heart was hanging in there. He forced his eyes open.

Daisy was right there. Her cheeks were stained with tears and dirt, and she wiped at her snot with the back of her hand. There she was, his little girl, who had needed his comfort when he had pushed her away.

"'M sorry, darlin'," he cried, burying his face behind his palms. "I made so many mistakes, and I'm so, so sorry. You're right. It would've been better if I had di–"

She didn't let him finish. She threw her arms around him and crawled onto his lap as if she was still a small child. She clung to him and he embraced her fully. His gaze fell on the woman who had helped Daisy. There was a question in her eyes.

"'M fine," he rasped, forcing a small smile. "Thanks."

She nodded. Walking away, she mouthed "Good luck".

Hardy closed his eyes, shutting out the world beyond the warmth that Daisy's body was providing. He idly stroked her hair, holding her tight until the sobs slowed down. She was cradled into the crook of his neck, and he gently rested his weary head on hers. He had no idea how long they were sitting together, taking solace in each other's company.

Eventually, she spoke, "I love you, Dad. Always."

He hadn't been crying, but hearing those words that he thought he might never hear again brought tears to his eyes. And once they started, they didn't stop. She slid off his lap and tugged him to her chest. He cried in his child's arms until his head throbbed and his eyes ran dry. She released him and gently pushed him away. Their puffy and red-rimmed eyes met.

"I'm sorry about what I said," she stammered, her face flushing with the guilt and embarrassment she was feeling. He passed his hand over his cheeks and down his neck. There was no use in denying how deeply her words had hurt him, but at the same time they'd been uttered by an equally deeply wounded soul. And it was his fault for giving her nothing but lies to explain why her world was broken.

"You don't need to apologize," he soothed her. "It's me who needs to do so. I should have been honest with you. That was the only time I outright lied to you about my health. But all the omissions and half-truths were worse. I was so afraid of people finding out about my heart that I lied to everyone, including your mother. Doesn't make it better though what I did with you." Her scowl indicated her frustration. He sighed. "I can't emphasize enough how sorry I am about what I did. I should've told you a long time ago."

"So why didn't you then?" she yelled at him, her distress apparent.

"Because by the time I felt strong enough to do so, you had stopped talking to me." He was barely audible. She stared at him. Then she dropped her gaze and turned away.

"Was she worth it, Dad?" she asked quietly, studying the pebbles she was listlessly toeing.

Hardy sucked in a sharp breath. Her question was getting uncomfortably close to his alleged affair and his failure in the Sandbrook case. They couldn't escape talking about it forever, but at this very moment, he didn't have it in him to go down that slippery road. Not yet, not until his heart was more reliable. And not until he had talked to Tess about how to approach this issue. He didn't want to add to the piles of lies though.

"Daisy, please. Can we talk about this some other time?" he begged her. She scrutinized his pale, haggard face and she had mercy on him. She nodded, resuming her intense study of the ground in front of her. However, she wasn't quite ready to let go yet.

"Is that why you didn't want me to live with you? Because of _her_?"

Hardy was stupefied. "No. I didn't want you to find me dead in my bed one day." The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could hold them back. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with shock.

"That's an awful thing to say. That's an awful thing to think. That's so... fucked up," she threw at him, shock turning into anger. "Why did you have to be so _stupid_ about it? I thought you would rather be with the other woman, but instead you were ill and alone. Why didn't you tell me?" She whacked him hard on the shoulder. "Why did you let me hate you?"

Hardy caught her wrist when she swung her arm to hit his chest. "Daisy, please listen to me."

She growled in frustration and tugged on her hand. He let her go. Hoping he wouldn't sound too pathetic and be able to convey his sincerity, he tried to explain,

"I swear, I really did want to tell you about my heart condition, but by the time I could get a clearer head, you were already mad at me. You didn't want to talk. I never had the chance."

He ran his hands through his hair and laced his fingers at the nape of his neck. He hung his head, shame and guilt weighing him down. Tears were filling his tired eyes.

His voice was breaking when he admitted, "My doctor told me I would regret not telling my family and she was right. I am more than sorry that I didn't. If I could change one thing, that would be it. But I can't. I'll have to pay the price for it for the rest of my life."

He felt her move next to him. She cupped his cheeks with her warm hands and thumbed over his tears, like he had done so many times in her life. She gently lifted his head and made him look at her.

"No, you don't, Dad. I think you've paid enough. It's time to let go. I forgive you, if you can forgive me. I want you back in my life, I _need_ you back in my life. We've lost so much already, let's not continue wasting our time. Please, Dad?"

Hardy blinked through his tears at his daughter. It took him one beat of his bum heart to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. He gave her another kiss onto her hair and whispered in her ear, "Of course I forgive you. And there is nothing more that I want than to be part of your life. I love you, darlin'. Always."

They sat on the bench until late that afternoon. It was mostly Daisy talking, and Hardy was more than content to listen. When he got Emily's return call, firmly ordering him to come back to her office that day, Daisy went with her father.

* * *

 **A/N:** I wrote the first draft of this scene many months ago while in the middle of writing "A Million Holes". I couldn't handle slowly but surely undermining Hardy's relationship with Daisy and so I needed to see where it would go. This is only the start for their healing process, but you have to begin somewhere. Now, clearly there is a part of the saga missing – what happened after the Sandbrook case finished until Hardy came to Broadchurch – which I am currently writing as well. I debated if I should post this chapter or not, but then impatience won (especially as I want to move on with the overall story). So I hope you will bear with me until the missing parts will fill in some more context.

A tremendous Thank You to HAZELMIST who despite the feels assault faithfully edited/corrected my mistakes. Whatever errors are left are mine. Hazelmist's quote of the day that basically sums it up: "I AM OVERLOADED WITH FEEEEEEEEEELLLLSSSSSSSSSSSSS AND MY BRAIN IS SHORTING OUTTTT"


	8. Chapter 7 - You And Your Loved Ones

**A/N:** Thanks everyone for reading, following, comments, kudos and other votes of confidence. I'm really excited about continuing this story. (I've been dusting off the pieces that I've written months ago) This is Daisy's chapter and I hope it's not too redundant or boring. I always like to hear what you think! Oh and I'm flying solo on this one, all mistakes are mine ;-)

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – You And Your Loved Ones**

Daisy resisted the urge to help her father out of the taxi cab. He'd been dozing off during the ride to his cardiologist's office, or at least he'd claimed that he'd fallen asleep when he caught a glimpse of her worried face. He'd looked at her with those tired eyes that seemed so much older compared to what she remembered.

The dinner they'd shared a few weeks back, had left her shocked by how much he had changed. She'd met him only once this past year, and it had been hard to reconcile the man who had been sitting in front of her with the image of her father she'd had in her head. His body had felt way too skinny when he had hugged her. His face looked worn, and even the scruffy beard couldn't hide his gaunt cheeks. She liked the shaggy hair, but she didn't like the dark circles under his eyes contrasting his pale complexion. He'd been so happy to see her, a smile brightening up his haggard features. His joyous welcome had made her feel guilty when she had quickly wiggled out of his arms. He'd almost succeeded in hiding his disappointment.

She had missed him despite the hot anger that bubbled up every time she thought about the reason why he had left them. The struggle with her overwhelming emotions that washed through her the moment she saw him had rendered his tight embrace hard to take. She was better at concealing her feelings though. The teenage contempt at display of public affection came in handy at times. So did teasing him about his picky eating habits which had been a welcome distraction. Her relief had been tangible when he'd opened the conversation with his standard question about school. At least they had been moving on familiar territory.

Until that man had shown up. It hadn't taken her long to figure out who he was – the father of the girl that had been murdered a couple of years back. He had frightened her; the way he'd looked down at her father, the way he'd eyed her. Daisy knew her father too well. His face had been stoic, but the words that had been thrown at him had rattled him. Regardless, he'd risen to protect her, standing tall and facing the clear threat that the man had made. When he'd put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she felt the ever so slight tremble. She had wanted to tell him that the man had been wrong, that there was still something for him here in Sandbrook, but she hadn't been able muster the courage. Her father had remained tight-lipped and reclusive for the rest of the meal, shooting occasional glances at her and her mother and faking smiles at the appropriate places that never reached his weary eyes.

"Third floor," he directed her, pulling her away from the memory of that evening. She pressed the button of the elevator and stared at their reflection in the mirror. He didn't tower over her as much any more, she'd grown.

"I think you'll like Emily. She –"

"You call her by her first name?" She locked eyes with him in the shiny glass surface. The surprise was audible in her voice. He pulled up one side of his mouth and shrugged.

"She wanted me to." A sheepish expression played over his features.

She turned to face him. "Do you let her call you by _your_ first name?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Aye," he said and grinned. There were more crinkles around the corner of his eyes than what she remembered. It was the first time today that he seemed genuinely amused.

"Wow," Daisy mumbled, staring at her feet. Then she looked up, meeting his steady gaze. "Those pills must really do something to your brain," she teased, feeling way too giddy for her own good. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. The elevator door opened with a ping and he ushered her out.

It smelled like hospital. The unmistakable scent hit her as soon as they walked into the doctor's office. There was a reception desk, partitioning the waiting area off from the entrance.

"Oh, hello Mr. Hardy. Long time no see," the woman at the desk joked. It provoked a groan from her father. Daisy hid a smile. It faded when she saw the thick paper chart that the receptionist passed over to a nurse. _AGH_ , her father's initials, were neatly printed on the front. A hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I pretend I don't notice it," he whispered in her ear and brushed a kiss on her hair.

"You've got more practice than I do," she retorted with a grim face. He inhaled sharply, but didn't say anything. They took their seats and waited in silence.

Two weeks or so ago, her mother had told her. In the car, right before she'd dropped her off at school. She'd apologized that she wouldn't be able to pick her up. She'd talked to Molly's mother who would take her home to her friend's house where she could stay overnight. Confused, Daisy had nagged her and her mother finally had confessed to what she was up to.

' _I'm worried about your dad, sweetheart,'_ she'd said. _'He's going for an operation and I think I should be there.'_ Her mother's face had been pale which pronounced the lines in it. Daisy had refused to get out of her seat until she had revealed what sort of operation he was having. Her own heart almost stopped. Her mother had not given her much of an explanation, only that her father suffered from an irregular heartbeat and therefore needed a pacemaker to fix it. She'd then left her at the curb in front of the school with so many questions and worried sick. Daisy had skived off class and called Cory. He had been in London, but they'd talked for a while, easing her anxiety. She'd spent the hours waiting to hear from her mother with searching the internet for all the information she could find about pacemakers and arrhythmias. It was overwhelming and frightening. All she could think about was the haggard and ill appearing face of her father when that man had threatened him and that trembling hand on her shoulder.

She'd been lost in her thoughts and startled when there was a thud, and then a sudden commotion in the waiting area. Blinking, she realized several people had jumped up and hurried to where they were sitting. Her father was slumped over, half on the chair, half on the ground. He was grey in the face and his eyes were unfocused. Another patient was shaking him.

"Hey, mate. Can you talk?" The man's gaze darted over to Daisy. "What's wrong with him? Is he having a heart attack?"

Daisy stood there, tears springing to her eyes and shaking her head. "I dunno," she croaked, her voice breaking. The feeling of helplessness paralyzed her. She had no idea what his condition was called or let alone what to do.

A nurse and a woman in a tailored suit rushed in and dispersed the crowd. The woman stooped down next to her father.

"Alec? Can you hear me?" He didn't react. She placed her hand on his neck. Her tense face relaxed. "It's only a syncope. We won't need that," she said and waved away some medical apparatus that the nurse had brought in. "He's bradycardic. The pacemaker should kick in any moment now. Bloody hell," she muttered to herself. "Didn't think he'd be that sensitive to the changes."

"Does he have to do this every time he comes here? This is getting a bit old," the nurse grumbled and rolled her eyes.

"Bridget, please!" There was a scolding sharpness in the woman's voice. "You know how ill he is and how lucky we are that he made it this far." Her hand never left his neck, and after what seemed like an eternity to Daisy, she smiled. "There we go, Alec. Welcome back," she greeted him when his eyes fluttered open.

"Daisy?" He croaked her name and struggled to sit. The woman spun around and fixed her gaze on Daisy.

"Oh, my God," she exclaimed and stood up quickly. "You're _Daisy_. He brought you with him." Her hand flew to her mouth and her bright eyes glittered. She stepped up to her, and before Daisy even knew what the hell was going on, the woman embraced her tightly.

Her father meanwhile scrambled to his feet, moaning and breathing heavily.

"I see," he panted, "Female solidarity. Forgotten is the old man with the bum ticker." He plopped onto the chair and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Oh, shut up, Alec," the woman chastised him and let Daisy out of her arms. "She deserves a hug. Look at her, she's terrified." The woman smiled at her and her father's face faltered.

"'M sorry," he muttered, sporting a look somewhere between defeat and guilt.

"Dad, it's not your fault. You said your doctor messed around with the pacemaker. Maybe she screwed up. So it's her fault." The need to protect him from his notorious self-blame was growing in Daisy.

"I guess it's on me then," the woman said, eyeing Daisy curiously. Then she stuck out her hand. "I'm Emily Abbott, your father's cardiologist."

Daisy's cheeks heated up. She should have figured out that this woman was the doctor who she had just accused of bungling up her father's treatment. But then, she had a point, didn't she? If the pacemaker wasn't set right, then it wasn't her father's fault. Scowling, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Daisy, please be nice," her father sighed and passed a hand over his cheeks.

Defiantly, Daisy squinted at the open and warm face of Emily Abbott. A smile played over the doctor's lips.

"Can I tell you a funny story about your dad?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

Daisy frowned and chewed her lip. She wasn't convinced that this doctor deserved her trust. She nodded though.

"So, picture this. One day, I walk out of the elevator in the hospital early in the morning, not even six o'clock yet. First thing I see is your Dad, long naked legs sticking out from under the gown that wasn't really covering _anything_." She grinned and her father groaned. "He was clinging onto the IV pole for dear life, pale as a ghost. It was quite a sight. He'd tried to escape from the ICU but didn't make it far. He passed out on me before I could give him a bollocking."

"What? Why would you do such a stupid thing, Dad?" Daisy cried out.

Hardy tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling tiles. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Because he wanted to visit you, Daisy," Emily Abbott concluded her story with a soft tone.

"Oh." Daisy couldn't think of anything coherent to say. She had only learned a few hours ago that her father had collapsed and nearly died at her bedside. Dr. Abbott offered her hand again, and this time Daisy took it reluctantly. The doctor leaned in and whispered in her ear,

"My father was a Scott too, incredibly stubborn. I know what you're dealing with." Daisy gaped at her in surprise.

"I could hear that, Emily," her father groused from where he was sitting. A small smile flickered over his face while he observed them through his half-open eyes. He looked more tired than half an hour ago if that was at all possible.

"You were supposed to," Emily teased him and helped him to his feet. "Let's get that little box fixed. Why does everything always have to be so difficult with you, ey?"

"Oh, I dunno. Call it shit luck," he muttered.

"Dad, language!" Daisy admonished him with a smirk. She was fascinated by their interactions. She couldn't remember a day her father had been so at ease with someone who wasn't part of the family. And Emily Abbott wasn't exactly treating him like Daisy would have expected it from a physician. It dawned on her that they were much more than patient and doctor; they were friends. A warm feeling grew in her stomach. He'd not been as lonely as she had feared.

"Darlin', there is a water cooler down the hall. Could you get me some, please," her father requested kindly.

"Sure," she complied happily. When she returned, it was clear she'd interrupted a conversation. _Bollocks._ He'd sent her away on purpose and she had fallen for it.

"... know that part yet –" her father was saying and cut himself off abruptly upon her entrance into the room. His eyes grew wide in his flushing face.

"Daisy. That was fast," he rasped. He couldn't have looked more caught in the act. He'd always been a bad liar. Until the day he pretended to have had a car accident instead of revealing that his heart had ceased beating and he'd died.

"Were you with him when his heart stopped?" Daisy blurted out, suddenly angry again about having been deceived. Emily shot a questioning glance at her father who nodded.

"If you're referring to the time when you were ill, yes," she answered carefully. Horrified, Daisy realized how woefully unspecific her question was, considering that her father's heart had given out on more than one occasion.

"Exactly how many times did you die, Dad? How many times did you not tell me about it? How many times did you lie to me?" she shouted at his pale face. She shoved the paper cup in his lap, spilling the liquid all over it. He sat there, silent and not moving. The dripping water was the only sound in the room.

"About half a dozen times, Daisy," Emily stated way too calmly. Daisy stared at her, unable to process what she'd heard. She sank down onto the closest chair.

"But that's impossible. You were fine!" she cried, choking on her tears. Blinking through the blurriness, she noted that Emily was handing him some pills and was checking his pulse at his wrist. She helped him to lie down on the exam table.

"Alec, can I leave you for a moment?" she asked him and he nodded, closing his eyes.

"Daisy, why don't you come with me? Your father needs to rest for a while and we can talk," Emily suggested, ushering her out of the room. Daisy was too frazzled to protest. Emily took her to her office. It was a cluttered room, filled with papers, books and pictures of a little boy. They sat down on the small sofa.

Emily found her eyes. "Believe it or not, I know exactly how you feel. My father had a serious illness that he tried to hide from us until it was almost too late. He was as stubborn as your father. In fact, I've told Alec on many occasions that he reminds me of him." A smile flicked over her face. "I've also told him many times he needs to talk to you; that you not only need to know, but that you _deserve_ to know. For whatever it's worth, he regrets very much that he didn't do it."

He'd said that earlier today. It didn't make it better though.

"He lied to me. He has never done that before," Daisy shared angrily.

"Yes, he did. But that is something the two of you have to talk about. What I want to do is help you to understand his disease better. Not because of him, but because of you. The more informed you are, the less frightening it will be. The more you're confident in how to deal with it, the less scary an episode will be. It will make you feel in charge and not so helpless."

Daisy crossed her arms and chewed on her lip. "Fine. I'll listen."

Emily grinned.

"What's so funny?" Daisy huffed.

"Do you realize how much you resemble him when you get grumpy?" Emily wondered with a mischievous smile.

Daisy sighed exasperatedly, very much like her father would have. "Yeah, I do. My boyfriend told me the same."

A chuckle escaped Emily.

"What?"

"Did Alec tell you that he's aware that you have a boyfriend?" Emily was trying to hide her amusement. Daisy was mortified.

"God, no. He is? How the hell did he find out? Shit. He's going to have a heart attack –" Daisy broke off when she saw Emily's face. "Don't tell me he had one of his fits," she continued incredulously.

Emily nodded, stifling a laugh, but sobered up when she noticed Daisy's distressed expression.

"Is it always going to be like this now? Every time he gets upset he'll pass out? It happened twice while we were in the park."

Emily took Daisy's hand. "No. It won't. He needs some time to recover from how ill he's been, but he'll get better." Daisy had her doubts. "I promise," Emily added solemnly, and something in her bright eyes and face made Daisy believe it.

"So, what's the name of his problem? After my Mum told me about the pacemaker, I looked up stuff on the internet, but there is way too much information."

Emily stood and sifted through a stack of papers. Then she came back and handed Daisy a little booklet. It had a heart and an ECG squiggle on the cover, right beneath the title _"Living with Long QT Syndrome – What You and Your Loved Ones Need to Know"_.

"It's a condition called Long QT syndrome. It's a genetic disease that your father was born with. I've never been able to figure out why he lived a relatively normal life until his forties, but he's been affected since he was a baby."

Daisy's eyes grew wide. She couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that her father who had been her rock all throughout her life maybe wasn't as sturdy as they all had believed. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, shaking her head. Of course it would be his bloody heart though. It fit.

"The disease changes the way the heart generates a beat," Emily continued after giving her a moment to digest the news. "It can lead to dangerous arrhythmias which are irregular heart rates. Sometimes his heart beats too slowly. That's when he passes out, like he just did in the waiting room. Then there are other times when the heart beats way too fast, so fast that it can't pump blood properly. That situation is very dangerous because that's when the heart stops. We call it a cardiac arrest. Do you follow so far?"

"I think so," Daisy said slowly. It was a lot of information to swallow. And every time she was reminded of his heart stopping, she had to keep her tears in check.

"He's been taking medications for it and they help to a certain extent. But what really makes a difference in his case is the pacemaker and ICD. The pacemaker helps keeping his heart rate up when it slows down too much. The ICD gives his heart a shock when it beats too fast. Did that happen earlier?" Emily questioned.

"I dunno. How could I tell one from the other?" Daisy was confused. To her both episodes in the park had looked the same.

"Do you know how to check a person's pulse?"

"You can hold their wrist?" she answered insecurely.

"That's correct." Emily took her hand again and showed her where exactly to put her fingers. She felt Emily's steady heartbeat and her own which was much faster. Emily explained to her how to count and what number was considered too low or too high.

"Sometimes when a person has an arrhythmia spell you won't be able to feel it at the wrist. That's when you check the big artery in the neck." Emily moved Daisy's hand to her own neck. The strong pulse under her fingertips was an odd sensation.

"Now try to find it by yourself," Emily instructed her, letting go of her hand. It took Daisy a while to locate the correct spot on Emily's neck, but at last she did. Content with her accomplishment, she smiled shyly.

"When your father doesn't feel well, check his pulse. He will protest, because that's what he does, knob that he is, but don't be deterred by his grumpy shtick." They grinned at each other. It was refreshing to have an ally who apparently knew exactly how unreasonable her father was when it came to someone fussing over him.

"After I'll adjust the pacemaker again, he really shouldn't have any issues with the slow heartbeat, but I don't trust him. Would be the first time he's acting like he should." She sighed and for a moment there was exasperation shining through. Daisy wondered what Emily and her father might have gone through together. Probably nothing good. An ice cold fist seized her stomach.

"Is he going to die?" Daisy whispered, suddenly unable to hold back the question that had been burning in her mind ever since she found out that her father suffered from a serious heart problem.

Emily gave her a long look. There was something hidden in her pensive gaze that Daisy couldn't figure out. "I'm not going to make any predictions. Not any more," she sighed eventually. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But I'd say he's got a good chance now that he finally got the pacemaker."

Daisy wasn't quite reassured by her statement, but she was willing to take it. The pacemaker fixed the problem with the faulty heartbeat – no more broken heart, her Dad had said – and everything else would fall in place. Or at least she hoped it would. Shoving her anxiety away, she decided to ask more practical questions.

"So you told me about too slow. What happens when it's too fast?"

Emily searched her face, but then went along with focusing on matters at hand. They discussed the ICD and what its role was. It sounded scary, however Daisy was glad it would save her father's life if needed.

"What about the part when he gets upsets? Why is he like that now? Is it the drugs he's on?" Daisy inquired.

Emily chuckled. "No, it's not the drugs. It's because he's taking everything to heart so much."

"Ha, too soppy. I knew it," Daisy agreed triumphantly.

"He thought you'd say that." Emily smirked.

Then she continued on a more somber note, "The real reason is that emotional distress can provoke an episode. Other triggers are unnecessary exertion, being startled, especially out of sleep, and certain foods. There is a table in the booklet I gave you that lists things to be aware of. For example you should avoid to wake him up suddenly or give him a fright."

"Are you telling me I could literally scare him to death?" Daisy gaped at her. Emily nodded. Daisy thought of all the moments she'd sneaked up on him and spooked him. She used to make fun of him how jumpy he was and often seemed to be close to passing out. "Holy shit," she murmured, realizing that probably his heart was to blame for his reaction and not his skittishness.

Something else popped up in her mind. "I did make him ill after all," she groaned.

"What do you mean?" Emily frowned at her.

"When I got sick with the appendicitis. He told me that was when he found out. If I hadn't gotten sick, his heart wouldn't have given out," she said, tears welling up again.

"Daisy, sweetheart, you didn't make him ill. His heart was already getting worse and the stress was simply too much for him to handle. It's not your fault. If it hadn't been that, then it would have been the case."

Daisy's eyes widened. Emily was the last person she'd expected to blame that bloody case for everything. She was about to lash out, when she paused and reconsidered. Her father had told her back then how much it had been getting to him. He'd nearly died by the end of it. It was hard to admit, but maybe some of the excuses her parents had made were not so far off after all.

"How bad off was he when the case closed?" she asked quietly.

"Pretty bad, Daisy. What did he tell you?" There was trepidation in Emily's voice and Daisy wondered what they were still hiding.

"He said he was very ill, and then one day his heart stopped for about five minutes. They barely got him back." She remember the day he'd come to pick up some of his things. He'd looked like a dead man walking and maybe that had been truer than she'd ever thought it possible. "Was he dying?" she whispered.

Emily put an arm around her shoulders. "That's what I believed back then. He didn't though." An odd undertone echoed in her words. "And that's why I'm not making any more predictions when it comes to your father's health. He's proven me wrong one too many times."

Daisy shrugged off Emily's arm. Restlessness took over. She jumped to her feet and started pacing, hands on her hips. She was losing control.

"He's such a bloody idiot," she yelled, steaming with aggravation. "You know what he told me why he didn't want me to live with him? Because he didn't want me to find him dead in his bed one day. Who says something like that? Seriously. He'd rather die alone than have someone who loves him with him. I –"

Emily's face made Daisy pause. This time there was no doubt that she was tearing up. "What? Why are you crying?"

"Oh, Daisy. Do you even know how much he –" She cut herself off, biting her lip.

"What? Why are you not finishing your sentence? I'm so sick and tired of people not telling me the truth or keeping things behind their backs. Nobody ever talks to me."

Emily shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't."

Daisy groaned in frustration. It was infuriating.

There was a knock, the door opened, and in walked the root of all her distress.

"It's all your bloody fault," she spat at his face and stabbed her index finger against his chest.

He eyed her finger and then her angry scowl. Rubbing his tongue over his teeth, he sighed deeply.

"Right. I guess so?" He sounded weary. His gaze wandered over to Emily, posing an unspoken question.

"Oh, don't worry, she didn't say anything. Whatever dirty little secret it is that all of you are hiding from me, it's safe with her," Daisy let him know, her voice trembling with fury.

"Darlin', please give me a break, would you?" He collapsed onto a chair. "I get it. You're properly angry at me and you have every right to be so." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I'mtired, _really_ tired, and I don't think I can handle much more today." Their eyes met, and there was a sadness in his that tugged on Daisy's heart.

"I'm not as strong as I used to be," he confessed quietly.

The words hung between them. Slowly they sank in. Together with his slumped shoulders, his exhausted look, and his labored breathing. And for the first time since she'd learned about her father's heart disease, Daisy truly understood that he'd changed. That he wasn't the same man any more who she remembered.

It hurt. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but there was no more denying it either. She would never get back what she had lost, and neither would he.

"Daisy, there is more than the arrhythmia." Emily had come up behind her and turned her around. "Have you ever heard the term heart failure?" she asked gently.

Daisy's stomach knotted up. She hadn't, but it sounded scary.

"Your father's heart was injured from the times that it stopped beating. It doesn't pump as well and that's what we call heart failure. That's what's making him tired and he can't exert himself as much. However, it's been getting better, now that he has the pacemaker."

Emily and her father exchanged a glance. Daisy's gaze rested on her father's frail figure. It was obvious how exhausted he was. There were so many things she yearned to find out, and in her impatience she'd overlooked how much this day was wearing him out.

"I'm sorry, Dad. You're right, we should take a break." The relief was written all over his face.

"Alec, let me adjust the settings and then you should go home and rest. Where are you staying? With Ed?" Emily asked while she retrieved some medical device. Daisy watched, torn between fascination and fear.

"No. I'm at a hotel. Didn't want to bother him," her father mumbled while eyeing what Emily was doing with an anxious look on his face. She held the device close to his left collarbone and started tapping the screen of the little monitor.

"That's so silly. Ed would be more than happy for you to stay with him," Emily continued to make conversation while she went swiftly through reprogramming the pacemaker. It might have been routine for her, but judging from her father's expression it was anything but that for him.

"Does it hurt?" Daisy inquired curiously.

He shook his head. "Not this."

Daisy wondered what it was that did cause discomfort relating to the pacemaker. Maybe it was when it shocked him. Earlier on the park bench, he'd certainly looked as if he was in pain.

"Done," Emily announced, putting the device away. "It's set at a higher rate, but not as high as before. I expect you to call me tomorrow and let me know how it's going. If you have any issues, ring anytime. Do you have the remote transmitter with you at the hotel?" Emily questioned doubtfully.

"Aye." He scratched his eyebrow and his ear turned red. "Can't figure out how to make it work though," he added with a sheepish face.

Emily sighed. She rummaged through one of her drawers and pulled out an instruction manual. "Here. This explains it."

Her father opened it and stared blankly at the page. Daisy sidled up to him and peeked over his shoulder. It looked pretty straightforward to her, but she knew her father. It might have well been written in a foreign language. She snatched it out of his fingers.

"I'll help you with it," she proclaimed, waving the manual around.

"What? No," he protested and tried to take back the booklet.

"That's a brilliant idea," Emily agreed enthusiastically and slapped her father's grabby hands. "Let her help you!" she ordered sternly.

"Oi, I'm not an invalid. I can take care of myself," he grumbled. Emily snorted in disagreement.

"You might not be an invalid, Dad. But you sure are tech challenged," Daisy stated, her mouth broadening into a grin.

"Fine," he conceded with a pout. "Are we done then?" Fatigue pronounced his Scottish accent that she had missed so much.

"Yup. I'll have the front desk call you a taxi."

"Erm... about that. When do you think I could drive again?" His expression was hopeful.

"Alec, do you think you should be behind a wheel yet?" Emily countered his question. He quickly glanced at Daisy, then dropped his gaze, shaking his head.

Daisy hadn't made the connection up until then, but now it was so obvious why he hadn't been driving any more. A screeching tire noise and a fast approaching truck flashed in front of Daisy's eyes. She tilted her head and searched her father's guilty face.

"Dad, that time we nearly got into an accident... did you have an episode or something?" she demanded to know. His crimson cheeks and ears were answer enough. He sucked in some air through his nose.

"I wasn't supposed to drive but I didn't listen to Emily until I almost crashed the car." He paused and looked her straight in the eye when he continued, "With you in it. I could have hurt or even killed you, Daisy." His voice broke with her name. "'M so sorry."

He was utter misery and Daisy's heart flowed over. She threw herself into his arms and hugged him tight. He hadn't expected it, and her force pushed him back, tripping him. She toppled onto him and they both fell down in one entangled mess of long limbs. Daisy giggled when she came to rest on his chest like she used to when she was little. Air escaped his mouth when he groaned, but he was smiling. She shifted her weight to get up and he suddenly yelped in pain. His face scrunched up and he frantically clawed at her hand that was resting on his left side. Emily pulled her quickly off of him. He stayed on the ground, panting and cradling his left shoulder.

"Daisy, be careful. That's the side where the pacemaker is," Emily explained while she helped her father onto his feet. His face was grey, but his breathing was calming down.

 _Bollocks_. She had forgotten that he'd recently had the surgery. She felt like a fool. "I'm sorry, Dad. Did I hurt you badly?"

"It's all right, darlin'. It was an accident. 'M fine." He was making an effort to rid his face of any traces of pain. His right hand was still rubbing the spot under his left collarbone. "There's a lot we both need to get used to, ey?" Smiling tiredly at her, he muttered under his breath, "It's been a long day."

"Time to lie down, Alec," Emily stated firmly and ushered them out of the room. Emily gave Daisy her mobile number. Then she hugged her goodbye and whispered in her ear,

"He loves you more than anything in this world. He'd die for you. Don't let him be stupid." Daisy stared at her with wide eyes. Emily nodded and then said louder, "Make sure that he goes to bed when you get to the hotel."

"Emily," her father growled. Emily winked at Daisy who smiled back at her.

"Call me tomorrow and I'll see you next week for follow up," she instructed him and left to see her next patient.

Daisy followed her father downstairs. Emily's whispered words had shaken her. Questions were piling up, but she knew they would have to wait until he'd regained some strength. Now that they were talking again, impatience was ruling her world, demanding all the answers at once.

He dozed off during the car ride until his phone buzzed and woke him. He squinted at it at arm's length, but couldn't read it. He fished out his glasses with a huff.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath once he deciphered the message.

"What's wrong?"

He groaned. "I forgot about the bloody realtor. I was supposed to meet him to look at a few flats." He rubbed his fingers over his eyelids, pushing up his spectacles.

"When were you going to meet him?"

"Now," he sighed.

"We could still make it," Daisy suggested.

"Daisy, I'm spent," he admitted. "It's not a good idea."

"Were you interested in the places?" she wanted to know.

He nodded. "There is one that is close to your school. Has only one bedroom though." There was trepidation in his eyes. She knew why. Last time they had a similar conversation she had angrily walked out on him. Two long miserable years later, she wished she hadn't. She took his hand.

"That sounds great, Dad. Maybe we could focus on that one. And if you don't like it then you can go after the other places tomorrow." There was genuine enthusiasm in her voice. Her father was coming back to her. She'd do anything to help.

Trepidation changed to excitement, and his tired eyes lit up. "You'd come with me? To take a look?"

"Yup." She bopped her head up and down vigorously. That was all he apparently needed. He texted the realtor, gave the driver a new destination, and squeezed Daisy's hand tightly.

"Thank you, darlin'." He breathed a kiss in her hair.

Two hours later, they'd seen the flat and both liked it. It was small but quaint. The realtor was eager to settle the deal, and her father had signed the lease on the spot. He could move in as early as the following week. After it had been all said and done, his nervous energy left him, and she had to drag him to the hotel. She made sure he ate at least a sandwich while she set up the remote transmitter for the pacemaker. Then she tucked him into bed. He was out before she could even turn off the light.

A sudden bout of fear of losing him made her go back to his side. She placed a lingering kiss on his forehead. He didn't stir, and Daisy used the opportunity to feel for his pulse on his neck. It was slow but steady. Daisy counted like Emily had taught her. It wasn't any faster than the rate of the pacemaker. For a brief moment Daisy was panicking, realizing that all that kept his heart going was that little box beneath his collarbone. But with that awareness also came the understanding that indeed the little box was doing its job. _No more broken heart._ A smile flickered over her face. She scribbled a note and left it next to his glasses on the nightstand. She watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, finding comfort in it. Then she left, happier than she had been in a long time.

* * *

When Hardy woke up alone in the middle of the night, he was convinced he'd been dreaming that he'd spent half the day with his daughter. He rolled over to check the time and there it was. A note. He turned on the light, put on his glasses, and picked up the piece of paper with trembling hands.

 _Dad,_

 _I'm glad you're back. Don't ever leave again. For whatever reason._

 _I love you. Always._

 _Daisy_

He read it three times until his tears blurred the letters too much. Then he sank back onto his pillow, clutching the note to his heart. His fingers were still curled around it when rays of sun tickled his face in the morning. He blinked into the light, feeling rested. That night, for the first time in two years, Hardy had slept instead of drowned.


	9. Chapter 8 - Haunted

**A/N:** Today, a year ago, I posted the first chapter for "A Better Way To Fall". I was a nervous wreck and was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed in such a supportive community. Since then I've written roughly about half a million words and the saga is still not done yet... Thank you everyone for sticking around, reading, crying, laughing, being entertained, reviewing, leaving kudos and everything else. I've made friends on the way which was probably the most astounding aspect of this all. My special thanks goes out to HAZELMIST – because without her I would have never come this far.

If this chapter has a few more mistakes than usual it's because my feverish brain didn't catch them or couldn't think straight, but I really wanted to post something today on the anniversary (I know I'm being silly). Thank you LILY-DRAGON for helping me make it better. Happy reading!

* * *

 **Chapter 8 - Haunted**

Ellie's phone buzzed. She ignored it. It buzzed again. She groaned and rolled over, covering her ears with a pillow. After ten seconds under the stifling piece of bedding, she threw it across the room. Her unruly curls were plastered down by sweat, caused by the sudden onset of the summer heat.

It had come out of nowhere, baking the South of England under brilliant rays of sunshine and making Broadchurch suddenly very popular with the beach-loving city crowd. The place was practically crawling with tourists. The locals took it with a grain of salt after the poor season they had had last year when her husband had spoiled all the fun and left a murdered boy on the beach. She repeatedly banged her head against the board of the bed, squirming in the sauna that her room had turned into. Maybe she should consider a trip up North to escape the heat and the tourists alike. And on that occasion she could possibly kill Joe. Why not?

She scolded herself for the violent thoughts, but in moments like this, her emotions were faster than reason. She laid back down, kicking the thin sheet off. She only wore a tank top and her underwear but was still drenched in sweat. Her phone buzzed a third time.

"Bloody hell. Who the fuck…," she cursed under her breath and snatched the mobile from the nightstand. The first thing that registered was the time – 1:58 A.M. The second was the name of the nightly intruder – Alec Hardy.

"Oh, for God's sake. What does he want now?" Her voice was getting louder with her anger. He had left two messages and a text: **Don't call the cops. It's not a cat it's Hardy.**

She read it, then listened to the voicemails, and then read it again. _Wanker_.

She took in a deep breath and sighed. A bit over two weeks ago he'd come back to hug her and then left her with his soppy letter that had rattled her perception of the world as she knew it. It also had resulted in the odd text message and a few phone calls between the two of them. Like the one on last Thursday that she'd rather forget about.

* * *

"Millah? You all right?" His Scottish accent was thick with sleep.

She was silent. She hadn't expected him to call her back after she'd sent her panicked text message. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning.

"Millah?" he slurred her name and yawned. "What's going on?"

She couldn't get a single word out, a sob choking her up.

"Ellie, please talk to me," he demanded softly, all sleepiness gone.

"Don't call me Ellie," she whispered half-heartedly.

"Fine. Miller then. For God's sake, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? You sent me this text that there is someone at the house, and you think it's him and then you –"

"I called the cops, Hardy. And Bob came, and it was all so embarrassing," she blurted out, her face burning. "It was the fucking neighbor's cat, Hardy. I cried wolf because I got spooked by a bloody cat. What is _wrong_ with me?" A frustrated groan made its way through her gritted teeth.

He was quiet on the other end. Then he said, still with this soft voice that drove Ellie up the wall, "You did the right thing, Miller. You've got the boys to think of. Can't take any chances."

She didn't tell him why she'd been so frightened. The noise had woken her from a nightmare. Joe might not have been at her doorstep. He didn't need to, he'd already been in her bedroom.

After a few moments had passed by, he added, "Bob Daniels, ey? Wanna bet how fast the story will spread? I'd give it half a day."

"Oh, shut up, Hardy. Don't try to be funny. It doesn't suit you." She would never tell him how much she appreciated that he was trying to cheer her up.

"Right," he groaned. "I forgot. That's not what I do."

He sighed deeply. Maybe she shouldn't have chastised him for trying to lighten the mood. A tiny flutter of remorse flickered through Ellie's conscience. It was quickly driven into the background when the sound of running water crackled through the phone. It stopped, and then there was a clanking noise. What was the wanker doing?

"Hardy, you're not using the loo while you're on the phone with me, are you?" Ellie quizzed indignantly.

"What? God, no." He seemed horrified. "I do have manners, Miller."

"Ha, could've fooled me," she grumbled.

"I'm taking my medication if you must know," he admitted grouchily. She could almost hear his face blushing through the phone.

"Oh." She wondered why he'd have to do that in the middle of the night. Curiosity won over courtesy, and she posed her question out loud.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he replied curtly.

"Fine. Be like that." Why was she even bothering with him? The answer was as simple as it was shocking. He'd been the first person she thought of to call when she was scared shitless. She didn't know how to deal with that realization. There was silence again.

"I was worried," he confessed, his Scottish accent thicker than when he'd just woken up. "About the boys..." – he swallowed – "... and you."

"And that set your heart off?" Ellie asked in utter surprise.

"Sort of," he mumbled.

"Don't you have the pacemaker for these kind of things now?"

He exhaled harshly. "Miller, it's half five in the morning. Do we have to talk about this?" The scathing tone was back in his voice, all softness gone.

Then it hit her. He'd said he was worried about her. _Wanker_. Who did he think he was that he dared be concerned about her?

"I don't need you to be worried about me, Hardy," she chastised him. "That's not how it works. I can take care of myself and my sons."

She expected him to lash out at her in return, but she couldn't have been more wrong.

"'M sorry, Miller. I didn't mean that. I know you're very capable of taking care of yourself and your children," he replied gently.

Ellie was gobsmacked. Alec bloody Hardy had apologized to her. For something he didn't really have to.

"Did you say you're sorry?" Ellie asked in bewilderment.

"Yup. I did."

"Why? What sort of pills are you taking?"

"Seriously? Why does everyone always think I'm on drugs when I'm trying to be nice?" His exasperation had shifted his pitch up. Ellie had always thought it to be rather entertaining when that happened.

"Oh, I dunno, Hardy. Maybe because your grumpy bullshit shtick doesn't exactly inspire confidence in your abilities to be civil," she retorted sharply.

He let out a long breath. "Right. I should go," he stated brusquely. She didn't want to acknowledge that there was a wounded undertone in his words. "Take care of yourself, Miller."

Before she could say anything else, he'd hung up, and Ellie was left with the guilty feeling that she'd hurt one of the few friends she had left.

* * *

She hadn't heard from him since then. His abrupt goodbye had been bugging her. She hadn't called him though, and neither had he. She didn't even know if he was still in Cardiff or if he had already moved to Sandbrook. Not that he had any obligation to tell her.

For that matter, neither had she to let him in when he randomly showed up at her doorstep in the middle of the night. The audacity this guy had. Unbelievable. Out of habit, she contemplated ignoring him. Her eyes fell on her nightstand drawer that kept his letter safe. Last time he'd come to her, he'd been lonely and in need of a friend. She'd been too.

 _Knob._ Why did he have to be like that? And why couldn't she behave like a decent human being around him either?

Muttering more foul language, she dragged herself to her feet and slipped on the pajama shorts she had discarded earlier. Then she quietly padded down the staircase. The last thing she needed was to wake up the children.

She peered through the glass window of the door, but didn't see anyone. Where the hell did he go? She opened the door and jumped. He was sitting on the step of the vestibule, slumped against the wall. His eyes were closed with his head lolled forward, and his fringe obscured most of his pale face. He looked dead to the world. Fortunately for the sake of her already frayed nerves, he took a deep breath at that moment. Ellie let out hers that she had been holding unintentionally. She charged forward, whacked him on the arm as hard as she could, yelling, "You bloody wanker!"

Pleased with the result of her assault, she watched him jolt with the fright. She was prepared to give him the bollocking of a lifetime for scaring her like that, but she wasn't prepared for what followed. His eyes jerked open. Then all color left his face. Gasping for air, his ashen features scrunched up in pain. His hand clawing frantically at his chest, he doubled over.

Ellie froze. Terrified by her memory of him dying on her on Briar Cliff, she couldn't gather herself quickly enough to react before his whole body twitched. Then he was still, lying curled up in her vestibule and breathing heavily.

Tears were running down her cheeks. She was shaking, suddenly cold in the hot summer night. She wasn't able to move, too shocked by what had transpired. Her mouth didn't cooperate, and her question if he was okay, came out all wrong and jumbled. He got it though, or maybe it was simply his standard response.

"'M fine, Millah," he muttered under his ragged breath. His gravelly voice was stronger than she would have expected. He slowly picked up his body and pulled himself up to a sitting position. Shaking his left arm as if it was numb after sleeping too long on it, he found her eyes and glared at her angrily.

"Don't look at me like that," she hissed, finally able to formulate a coherent sentence. She stepped closer in order to help him get up. He stared at her outstretched arm while rubbing his left.

"Miller, you can't do that."

"Fine. Suit yourself." She pulled back the proffered hand. Sighing, he rolled his eyes, and she felt the strong desire to slap him.

"That's not what I meant." He caught her wrist and clumsily used it to steady himself while clambering to his feet. He was heavier than she expected considering his skinny frame. Once he had found his balance and his breathing had calmed down a bit, he shot her a sideways glance.

"You can't wake me up like that, Miller. No startling, no sudden noises. It sets off the arrhythmia." His ears were red and his feet seemed way more interesting to him than anything else. He was clearly embarrassed.

Incredulity creased her forehead. "What? So you're telling me that your heart can't take an alarm clock?"

He shook his head, still not quite looking at her. His whole face was flushed now, and ironically made him look healthier than ever. A stifled laugh caught in her throat.

"That's not funny, Miller," he grumbled.

She tried to compose herself, but couldn't. It was too absurd. "So, how about getting a fright then? Same idea?" she inquired while trying to suppress her amusement. He nodded again.

She out right laughed and teased, "DI Shitface, the grumpiest hardarse in the force; easily defeated by an alarm clock and a good scare."

His eyes were burning through her. "Seriously, Miller? DI Shitface?" he growled, his Scottish accent running rampant with those few syllables.

"You didn't know about that?" she asked with feigned innocence. He must have known about the insult or not? One glance at him told her he didn't. He actually looked hurt.

"Oh," was all she could muster. She felt awful.

"You know, I was ill at the time, not entirely fair to make fun of that," he mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Did you tell anyone?" she retorted. He shook his head.

"Did you come back to work looking like something the cat dragged in although you shouldn't have?" she continued. He bopped his head up and down.

"Did you take my job although you knew you could croak any moment?" she finished with a raised eyebrow.

" _Millah!_ That was so…" He struggled for words in his wounded anger. His chest heaved while he was sucking in the air through his nose.

"Mean? Yeah, I agree. That was a mean thing to do, to take my job," she added sardonically.

He opened his mouth, unable find an answer. He tried again. On his third attempt, he surprised her.

"'M sorry for that. I shouldn't have," he apologized quietly. Staring at his feet, he leaned against the wall of the vestibule. "I was rather desperate," was all he offered as an explanation.

Ellie let out a long exasperated breath. "It's all right. And I'm sorry about - you know - the nickname." She smiled awkwardly. He smiled back equally awkward.

Chewing on his lower lip, he conceded, "I guess I did look like shit a lot of the time. Sure felt like it."

Moving closer, she put an arm on his elbow. "You better now?"

He lifted his eyes and looked straight into hers. She hoped he knew she didn't only refer to his little stunt on her doorstep but to everything else.

"Getting there," came his slow answer.

Neither one of them said anything for a while, until Ellie couldn't take the silence any more.

"Right. What are you doing here anyway?" She suddenly became uncomfortably aware of how close she was standing next to him; in her vestibule at two o'clock in the morning; with nothing but her pajama shorts and a tank top on her. Flustered, she took a quick step back and nearly tripped over his hold all.

He rubbed the back of his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Erm… I came down to deal with the cottage, now that SOCO is done in there. The landlord wanted me to be there when assessing the possible damage," he filled her in. With a frustrated groan, he added, "It's gonna cost me a fortune."

"And how does that explain why you're at my house in the middle of the night?"

"I need a place to stay. All the hotels are booked. Bloody tourists. Please?" he begged. This time he didn't look away. Instead he did the puppy eye thing. _Damn him_. At least he had the decency to blush. She wondered if he knew what effect his wide hazel eyes had on her when he was pleading like this.

"Ugh, fine. Come in already."

His face brightened up. Muttering a "Thanks, Miller", he picked up his bag and stepped into the house behind her.

"The guest room is a mess. You'll have to take the sofa." She eyed him from the side, expecting a complaint, but it didn't come.

"That's fine," he said quietly, stifling a yawn. In the better light of the hallway, she realized how exhausted he looked.

"When did you leave Sandbrook?" she asked frowning, her maternal instinct taking over.

"Dunno, 4 A.M. maybe? Had to catch the train. It's a long ride." He rubbed his eyes.

"Jesus, Hardy. You didn't have anybody to drive you?" He simply glared at her. "Right. Clearly not," she stated the obvious.

"Did you eat?" She was pleased when he nodded. Maybe he was finally learning how to take care of himself. She got some sheets, a pillow, and a blanket for him. From the expression he made when she handed it all over to him one could think he'd never seen anything like it before.

"All right. Good night," she said and started to walk up the stairs. When she glanced back, he stood perfectly still in the hallway, staring at her. She paused, looking at him confused. "Do you need anything else?"

He put down the pile of bedding and crossed the distance between them with two long strides. She was standing on the second step which eliminated the height difference between them. He captured her gaze with his soft hazel eyes before he pulled her into a hug, folding his long arms around her body.

"Thanks, Miller," he muffled into her hair. Then he let go of her, saying good-night while spinning on his heels to pick up the pile. He scampered off to the living room, gently closing the door behind him.

Ellie was rooted on the steps, pondering over what just happened. Finally, she turned and walked upstairs. He had been right, he did do hugs. And good ones for that matter. _Knob!_

* * *

The Broadchurch nick's interrogation room was bathed in sunlight. Ellie was sitting at the table, waiting for him to enter. He walked in and sat next to her instead of across the table. _'It was Joe'_ – his words echoed through the room, swelling louder and louder until they were all she could hear and feel. He kept throwing them at her over and over again until she screamed at him to shut up, repeating herself until a tight grip on her shoulder shook her out of it.

Her eyes snapped open and his face was still there, worriedly gazing down at her. She shrieked and he jumped.

"What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?" she croaked.

"You were calling my name," he replied defensively, taking a step back.

"Oh," she breathed. How was she going to explain that to him? _'Hardy you're the voice of my dreams, the bad ones to be precise'_ didn't sound quite right. She resorted to snarling at him instead.

"And why are you even up in the middle of the night?"

He shuffled his bare feet and thrust his hands into his pajama bottoms' pockets. Hanging his head, he shot her a glance from below his bangs. When he spoke, his tone was neutral, guarding his own feelings.

"I don't sleep much. I think I mentioned it in the letter. Get nightmares every night. About drowning in the river and pulling out Pippa." He hesitated. "Or Daisy."

The quiver in his words was hard to take. He stared past her at the wall, jaw twitching. His eyes were dark, mirroring the horror they had seen. Sucking in a breath, he continued but was still miles away,

"She doesn't come every night any more ever since we closed the case. Pippa I mean."

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe she finally found peace," he mumbled behind his hand. He dragged his fingers over his face and looked at her. A sad smile curled up his lips.

"I'm sorry that I haunt you."

He couldn't have been more sincere and genuine. Ellie's mouth gaped open. How could he know? Tears were welling up, and she desperately tried to suppress them. Last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. Again. A drop soaked through her thin shirt, and then another and another, and soon there was no holding back. She tried to hide behind her palms. The weight of his body shifted the mattress, and then his warmth was engulfing her. Gently he pried her fingers away from her face and buried it in his chest instead. His hand rubbed circles on her back.

His slow heartbeat soothed her, and listening to it drowned out the world that was threatening to overwhelm her. Measuring her breaths against the steady pace of his heart, brought her comfort and finally her sobs calmed down.

Her mind was caught up in her own world, and maybe that was why it took a while to sink in that his heart was likely not behaving the way it should. There were far too little beats in between her breaths. The moment it dawned on her that something was wrong, her head snapped up to meet Hardy's pale and sweaty face. His body slumped heavily onto hers, and he wasn't holding her any longer. She wiggled herself free. He barely caught his fall with his arms as soon as he lost her support.

"Hardy, what's going on?" Fear was creeping into her voice. He shook his head, too weak and breathless to talk. He made a clumsy attempt at lying down, struggling to navigate his failing body onto the bed. She hurried to help him, swinging his long legs onto the sheets and shoving a pillow under his head. Frantically, she tried to think of what else to do. Her fingers were already hovering over the dial button on her phone when his face twitched and color slowly returned to his cheeks. His eyes fluttered open, and he appeared disoriented until his flickering gaze found her.

Hot burning anger replaced her fear, and she promptly released it upon him.

"You bloody wanker. What the hell was that? Can you not die on me every time I see you? This is ridiculous. Thought that bloody surgery fixed your bloody heart?"

He groaned and pulled himself up against the headboard. "Could you not do that right now?" he stammered, rubbing his face with his hands.

"What?" she snapped.

"Yell at me for being ill."

Their eyes met. He held her gaze until his lids drooped shut. His body was still, the only movement was the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Ellie was uncomfortably reminded of the morning after his collapse in the boat yard. It had been a few weeks since his surgery, but he didn't seem that much better off. She sat down next to him at the edge of the bed.

Maybe she should apologize. She mulled that thought over in her head. By the time she finally made up her mind, he was snoring softly.

 _Knob._

Where the hell was she going to sleep now? She should have left him in the vestibule. Sighing, she stood up. He stirred, rolled over, and curled around the pillow he was hugging. The hard lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed. She tucked the sheet over him despite the heat, turned off the light, and walked down the stairs. She made herself as comfortable as she could on the sofa. Her last thoughts were lingering on how much younger he looked when he was sleeping unburdened of the world.

* * *

Fred's yowling woke her. She rolled over and fell off the sofa. A flurry of curse words, mostly aimed at Alec bloody Hardy escaped her mouth before she clambered to her feet. Fred continued to cry, and she hurried upstairs to his room. He wasn't in his crib. By now he was more than capable of escaping his prison which had made for some interesting mornings lately. One time she had found him stuffing as much tissue paper as he could into the toilet. Another day he had emptied out all the kitchen cabinets and had created a wonderful piece of installation art with pots, bowls, and an unhealthy amount of cornflakes. She could still feel the pricks in her feet when she'd stepped on them. It was rare though that he cried as that wasn't compatible with his usual stealth mode.

"Mummy… want Mummy," Fred wailed at the top of his lungs. It was coming from the bedroom. _Shit._ Hardy was in there. Ellie couldn't blame her toddler for getting upset with finding grumpy, scruffy Hardy instead of warm, cuddly Mummy in the bed when he was hoping for a morning snuggle. Suddenly the crying stopped, and all she could hear was muffled talking and the occasional sob. The door was cracked open, and she peeked inside the room.

Fred was sitting on Hardy's lap, staring at the bearded man as if he was an alien. Hardy's shaggy hair was sticking up in all directions and his face was creased in with marks from the bedding. Hardy wore the expression of someone who had been woken from deep sleep and really had no idea how he got to where he was. He was talking to the toddler in a soft voice and bouncing him up and down on his knees. A smile brightened up his sleepy face when Fred reached for his cheeks and stroked the beard. Fred giggled at the scratchy sensation, and Hardy used the opportunity to tickle his belly which in return sent Fred into a hysterical fit of laughter.

"What the heck is _he_ doing here?" She jumped ever so slightly at Tom's angry voice right behind her. Hardy had heard it too. He quickly stood up from the bed, lowering the toddler down to the ground. Fred had spotted his mother and ran up to her, hugging her legs tightly.

"Mummy… scratchy Alec," the little boy babbled happily and pointed at her former boss. He took her hand and tugged her into the room, possibly with the intention of making her pet Hardy's cheek, like he had done moments ago.

"And why is he in _your_ bedroom?" Tom sounded even angrier now. A deep scowl was etched onto his face, and he glared at Hardy whose ears were glowing red.

 _God help her_ , this situation quickly was turning from slightly awkward to major disaster. "Tom…" but before she could go on, Hardy interrupted her.

"I know what it looks like, Tom, but it's not what you think." Tom huffed and folded his arms across his chest. Ellie groaned inwardly at Hardy's less than cunning choice of words.

Hardy sighed and sat down on the bed. The flush of embarrassment had left his face and he looked suspiciously pale. Fred toddled back over and attempted climbing onto his lap. Hardy absentmindedly pulled him up, balancing him on his knees. The little boy's hand crept up to Hardy's cheek and tapped it carefully with his index finger. Then he looked for approval of his actions to his mother. Hardy didn't seem to notice. He curled Fred's hand into his and rubbed his thumb over the little boy's wrist.

Ellie could only stare at him. Somewhere in her brain the information that he was a father had been filed away, but as she had never seen him around children, she had no idea how to process the scene in front of her. It seriously distorted her framework of reality, and she had a hard time fitting it into her mental image of DI "Shitface" Hardy. Her brain did the sensible thing – ignore evidence in order to restore law and order in her thoughts.

Eventually it was Tom who broke the awkward silence. "If it's not what it looks like, then what is it?" he asked, his teenage voice breaking with his frustration.

Hardy squirmed. He glanced quickly at Ellie, chewed on his lip, and seemed to come to a decision. "Tom, I came to tie up some police work, but I couldn't find a hotel. Too many tourists. So I asked your mother if I could stay here for a night before going back home."

Tom acknowledged the explanation with a nod. The city kids had been overrunning the skateboard park and were annoying Tom and his mates. He could relate to that.

"Okay. That doesn't explain though what he's doing in your bedroom," he addressed his mother, ignoring Hardy. Ellie's eyes flicked back and forth between the two. What was she going to say? That he had comforted her over a nightmare he was the protagonist in? That he fell asleep after his heart seemed close to stopping? Luckily for her, Hardy saved her.

"I didn't feel well last night. Your mother was so kind and let me sleep in her bed instead of that hideous piece of furniture called a sofa." It sounded almost convincing.

 _Liar_ , Ellie thought, but was glad he didn't elaborate further.

Tom didn't buy it. "What do you mean you didn't feel well? You look fine to me. Mum never gives up her bed, she's a total hog when it comes to that." Ellie had to give her son credit for knowing her so well.

Hardy's ears turned red again. He dragged his hands down his face. When he looked up at them, he had an air of defeat around him.

"Tom, I have a heart condition," – the word rolled off his tongue like venom – "and I… I sort of passed out on your mother's bed."

Ellie was surprised at his honesty. After dealing with his lies and deceit for so long, that was the last thing she'd expected. Tom's face was impassive.

"And what were you doing in her bedroom to begin with?"

This time he addressed Hardy directly. He had taken a step between Ellie and the perceived intruder. Ellie hid a smile from her protective son. One glance at Hardy told her that he had also noticed, and it clearly made him feel more uncomfortable.

It was Ellie's turn to save Hardy. "Tom, sweetheart, he came to check on me because I was talking in my sleep. Remember, we've spoken about having nightmares?"

Tom nodded. They had had a long conversation about having recurrent bad dreams as they quickly discovered they were both plagued by them. Tom eyed Hardy with an unreadable expression.

"I guess that was nice of him then." And with that he turned and noisily thudded down the stairs. Fred followed his brother, but not without a last quick brush over Hardy's stubbly chin, accompanied by a giggle.

Hardy stared at Ellie with wide eyes and expelled all the air out of his lungs.

"God, I'm not used to this any more," he mumbled, his Scottish accent thick. Ellie tilted her head. Exhaustion creased lines into his face before the day had even started. She sat down next to him.

"You look tired. Did you sleep?"

"A bit, I guess." He was back to his usual monosyllabic self.

"When are you going back?"

"Train's not until the afternoon." He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and let them rest there. Clearly he wasn't in a conversational mood. But when was he ever?

She got up. "All right then. There are fresh towels in the bathroom. I can drive you to the station later." He muttered a "Thanks". She was almost out the door when his words hit her.

"It can't be fixed. I'll never be truly healthy again."

Ellie halted. His voice was heavy. She'd never seen him as despaired as he sounded right now. Turning around slowly, her thoughts were racing. What do you say to that? She leaned against the doorframe, her gaze resting on his slim figure. He was bent over, his elbows perched on his knees and hands dangling between his legs.

"What about the pacemaker then? Isn't that fixing it?" She could hear the doubt in her voice, fueled by last night's events.

He shook his head. "I never said that. I said they wanted to put one in."

His precise choice of words when it came to his health issues made her wonder if that was his way of turning lies into the half-truths he'd been telling people for years.

He sighed. "All it does is to prevent me from getting into real trouble. Like a cardiac arrest. And supposedly make me feel less tired because my heart rate won't be too slow all the time." He snorted and continued with a healthy amount of sarcasm, "At least it hindered you from scaring me to death last night."

She felt the strong urge to whack him, but considering how miserable he looked, she refrained from doing so. Instead she asked him what she had wanted to know ever since he had told her about his many hospital visits.

"How did you find out?"

He looked up and beckoned her to sit next to him. She reluctantly did so, not sure if she could handle being this close to him right now. It was distressing to realize that after she had finally made the decision to let him into her life, he could possibly be taken away from her any moment.

"Daisy got sick with appendicitis and had complications. She almost died from a serious infection. I collapsed at her bedside. My heart was unable to take the stress. Was kinda lucky though, because if it hadn't happened in the pediatric ICU with a defibrillator right outside the room, I would have died right there and then." He was wringing his hands, the only sign of being upset. His face was stoic, the rest of his body stiff. Ellie didn't say anything, sensing he wasn't finished yet.

"They told me then I need a pacemaker even before they had a final diagnosis. That was over two years ago. Turns out I was born with it; it's a genetic thing. They said I was fortunate I made it this far."

"You had this all your life? And you never knew about it?" she asked in disbelief.

He shrugged. "No, I never knew." Then he let out a small derisive laugh. "Funny thing is, if I look back, I can spot the symptoms. It's scattered through all my memories, like my wedding, Daisy's birth, childhood even."

Ellie was dumbfounded. She tried to remember what Joe had told her about arrhythmias. He'd always pointed out how much he disliked having to deal with them as they were so unpredictable and often deadly. It seemed that contrary to what Hardy might believe, he indeed had been fortunate. Or maybe it wasn't luck, but his incredible stubbornness that had saved him time and time again. Her curiosity got the better of her.

"How many times did you nearly die then, Hardy? Like, you know, that one time on Briar Cliff."

His head jerked up and he looked at her with wounded eyes. "Bloody hell, Miller, your bedside manners are worse than my cardiologist's. And she tells me on a regular basis that I'm an idiot."

"Sorry," she muttered. Maybe that had been a bit harsh, but there was a morbid fascination growing in her that she couldn't extinguish. There had to be a reason for his conviction he was going to die and take all the shame and guilt to his grave with him.

"You're unbelievable," he growled. And then he added, grumbling, "About half a dozen times or so. Not counting all the episodes that didn't land me in an ICU."

"Oh." Maybe she didn't want to know after all. It scared the shit out of her, now that he had put it out there. Another question popped up in her head, and before she could filter it and package it in less abrasive words, it spilled out of her.

"And you didn't get damaged by all this, your heart or your brain?"

First his face paled even more, then it turned bright red. His mouth gaped open, trying to formulate an answer. He didn't succeed and tried again.

"Oh… oh... fan-bloody-tastic. Now you don't only think that I'm a socially dysfunctional arse, grumpy and stubborn as hell, but… but also _brain damaged_. Thanks for that, Miller. Just what I needed." He jumped to his feet, and before she could catch up with him, he had locked himself in the bathroom.

Ellie felt awful. She followed him and knocked at the door. He didn't reply. She knocked a second time.

"Hardy, please. I'm sorry. Open the door," she pleaded.

"Go away, Miller. I don't wanna talk any more."

She couldn't tell if he sounded hurt or pouting.

"Oh, come on Hardy, locking yourself in the bathroom is my shtick. What happened to wandering off and staring at the horizon? Let's not switch roles halfway through this. It might confuse people."

There was silence. Then the lock clicked, and Ellie grinned. He stuck his head out, his hair an unruly mess. His hazel eyes were burning wild. He was still mad at her. "I can assure you my brain is functioning perfectly well. My heart… not so much." The grin on her face faded. He was dead serious.

"I was dumb, Ellie, and I did some real damage to myself." He swung the door open and plopped down on the wall of the bathtub. He didn't look at her when he continued, "I found out about my heart disease two or so weeks before the girls disappeared. And when the case turned from kidnapping in to homicide, I was willing to kill myself over it. It wasn't until I got Daisy and myself in a near miss car accident that I decided I have to get it fixed." He paused, rubbing his face repeatedly. His fingers were trembling. Ellie was listening to his tale, trying to keep it together. She wasn't very successful.

"I was so naive, thinking I could actually be okay again. Turned out _nothing_ was ever going to be okay again. Not my health, not my family, not my career." He was shaking his head. "Nothing." He closed his eyes, and tears were running down his cheeks.

She had never seen him this upset, and quite frankly it rattled her to see him like that. He had been the one steady rock in her fucked up life in the past year, and now he was crumbling in front of her. She was frozen to where she was standing. He hadn't finished yet, and Ellie listened with ever growing anguish to the rest of his story.

His voice was toneless now, devoid of any feelings, only marked by exhaustion. "The day we found the pendant I had a procedure to place the pacemaker. It failed and I almost didn't make it off the table. My doctor wanted me to stay, be close to the help I would need in case my heart gave out on me. I went home though. I hadn't told my wife or daughter." He took in a deep breath. Ellie saw the pain and regret playing over his face. He had even kept it a secret from his family. Ellie couldn't decide if that made her feel relieved that she hadn't been the only one or angry at his obstinacy. Mostly it made her sad.

"I needed Tess to help me make a decision about the next steps. I couldn't do it on my own because it was so risky to get it done. I never got around to tell her. She'd called me to the office and instead of me confessing to her, she confessed to me; about what happened with the pendant and the affair and I…" He broke off, breathing hard.

After a few heartbeats, he continued, "I died. I was gone for five minutes or so. After that we couldn't do the pacemaker until I healed some. And when it was time, it didn't really matter any more. I found one excuse after the other. My heart began to fail and things went downhill from there. When I came to Broadchurch I was barely holding on, but Danny's case tipped me over the edge."

He raised his gaze and his red-rimmed eyes fixed on her. "You're right, I should never have taken your job. It nearly killed me. Again." He looked away which was probably good, because if she had to stare into his hurt eyes for one more second, she would have lost the last bit of composure she was clinging onto. She had wanted him to tell her his story, but now that his past was unraveling in front of her, she feared what she was getting herself into.

She cleared her throat. "But now that you got the pacemaker, your heart problems will be better, right?" She was holding onto the idea as if it was the last thing it would save her from drowning.

His lips curled up in a wry smile. "Ah, Miller, always the optimist. Gotta love you for that." He sucked in some air and let it out, while pushing up to his feet. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turned to the bathroom window, and stared out into the sky.

"It's very unlikely that my heart will ever recover completely from all the times it stopped beating. They think I should be reasonably well once we have fine-tuned the pacemaker and the ICD. With rehab, a healthy lifestyle, and avoiding triggers I might be able to lead a halfway normal life. They have made it very clear though that over time there is a high probability that my heart will fail as a result of all the damage done." He didn't shake or quiver, his voice was steady and strong, facing his fate. When he turned around, she could see determination in those sad hazel eyes.

"I don't want to run any more, Ellie. I can't. I've done that way too long, and it has poisoned everything. I don't want to hide or live my life as if I'm going to die soon. I'm taking responsibility for what I did to myself, but just as much for moving on and being better." He paused, and when he continued, his voice low and earnest, it was maybe more of a vow to himself than anything else. "It's time to come back from the river, it's time to be myself again."

He stepped up to her and brushed her elbow. He found her eyes and made sure she didn't look away. "And it gives me hope to see that you have already turned around and started on that path. Maybe I can do it too." He gave her another one of those wistful smiles, a squeeze on her arm, and then left her standing in the bathroom. Ellie closed the door slowly and sat down on the lid of the toilet. Her bottom lip trembled and she couldn't hold back. Hiding in her bathroom, she sobbed over his broken heart, her own, and all the unfairness in the world until she had no more tears left.


	10. Chapter 9 - Being Nice

**A/N:** Thanks everyone for reading and leaving comments. I'm a bit behind with replies, but hope to catch up soon. Now on to the big announcement – dare I say that this chapter contains *gasps loudly and almost faints* FLUFF (at least for my standards). This fluff is dedicated to HAZELMIST and LIZANN5869 because they've been waiting for it. Thank you to ANERA527 and LILY-DRAGON for their thoughts on this chapter. Special thanks to KTROSE who fine-combed through all my silly mistakes. I am eternally grateful!

* * *

 **Chapter 9 – Being Nice**

Ellie had no idea how long she had been sitting on the toilet when a knock brought her back to the world around her.

"I'm done staring at the horizon. Are you done hiding in the bathroom?" a Scottish rumble filtered through the door.

When she didn't answer, he added, "I fed your children breakfast. Seems they enjoyed my feeble abilities to produce some decent food. There are pancakes, eggs, and I made coffee for you." When she still didn't say anything, the door opened slowly and he stuck his head in. "Millah, pull yourself together. You're not the one who's dying from heart disease."

She threw a towel at him. He caught it aptly and tossed it right back at her. A small smile played over his face.

"You… you bloody… I can't even…," she stuttered.

"Then don't. Just come out and –"

"Can I have a hug?" she blurted out, interrupting whatever he had to say. He stilled. Then he motioned her to come over and folded her into his long arms.

"We'll be fine, Ellie. We'll be fine," he whispered into her hair, embracing her as tightly as he could. They were standing in the bathroom, holding onto each other like two drowning souls finally having found their lifeline in the endless ocean.

When he let go of her, she felt lighter than she had in a long time. She might not have been running from a river that had pulled her under, but she had been running from that beach where the tide had tugged her out into the open water in the wake of a flood that had shattered her world. Maybe he was right and she had made that first step to finding a way back to the shore. Hardy had been her beacon. A steadfast rock holding up against the onslaught of the crashing waves that had threatened to wash away everything she'd held dear.

He propped the bathroom door open for her, his face as stoic as ever.

"Thank you," she muttered and squeezed by him. She'd meant so much more than his gallant gesture.

"You're welcome." His Scottish lilt had lost all harshness. Their eyes met. There was no need to explain.

Ellie's body couldn't figure out if it should tense or relax under his unwavering gaze. A grin slowly took a hold of his face.

"Oh, and don't forget. No being nice to me, Miller. That's not how it works." He winked at her, and Ellie tripped over her own feet.

"Smartarse," Ellie growled, whacking him meekly on the arm. Feigning indignation, he traipsed after her down the stairs.

* * *

She was not prepared for what awaited her in the kitchen. It was a war zone. He hadn't left one stone unturned to find what he needed. Traces of flour were dusted everywhere and tiny white hand prints decorated most of the surfaces. A faint odor of burned pancake wafted through the air. One too many scorched pans indicated the disaster that had unfolded on the stove.

Tom was nowhere to be seen, but Fred was eagerly scraping up bits of food that he'd stealthily deposited on the floor for a later snack.

"Mummy… pa'caks," he crowed happily, showing off a crumbled piece of what might have been a pancake in a former life.

"Bloody hell, Hardy!" Ellie drawled out the last syllable of his name. When she turned around, ready to unleash some more flowery language on him, he wordlessly handed her a cup of coffee. She eyed it suspiciously, half expecting something alive to crawl out of it. Then she took a reluctant sip. It was perfect.

Her head snapped up. "How did you –"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he rolled his eyes and cut her off. "I used to be a detective, Miller. Attention to detail is part of the job description, in case you forgot."

Ellie didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she poured him a cup and shoved it over the counter towards where he was leaning against it. He shook his head, refusing her peace offering.

"What? You can't even accept that now? After all we've been through?" She had no idea where her anger had come from.

"Miller, I don't drink coffee. I _can't_. Medically," he added softly. It reminded her of something he had said not too long ago with the same wistful tone. Tilting her head, she searched his face.

"That evening when I brought the fish and chips. You didn't refuse because you were a grumpy arse, but because you really can't eat it." It was so obvious now.

He dragged his hands over his face, hiding his reaction. "Not supposed to," he mumbled.

"So did you make me your bloody taxi because your doctors told you driving might not be a good idea?" Ellie couldn't banish the annoyance from her voice. Not accepting coffee or fatty foods was one thing, but dragging her across half of England and making her leave her child behind was something else.

"Miller, I told you I couldn't. You knew I was ill," he argued, glaring at her. Then he dropped his gaze. "Doctor's orders aside, Tess confiscated my license a few days after I had the near miss with Daisy in the car," he revealed bitterly. His cheeks glowed red in his pale face.

"You're kiddin'?" Ellie was taken aback. "Didn't you say you hadn't told her?"

"I hadn't told her how serious it was and nothing about the pacemaker. But she knew something was going on. Didn't take her long to figure out that I had passed out while driving. She was livid at me for endangering Daisy and rightfully so." Chagrin creased deep lines onto his forehead. "Didn't seem to care so much about me though." He didn't even try to hide the feeling of dejection from his voice.

Deflated, he sank down on to one of the flour sprinkled chairs. "I really enjoyed driving. I didn't want to give it up. It was a mistake. One of so many that I made." He hung his head and curled his fingers into his hair.

Ellie grabbed the kettle and put it on. The roiling boil of the water cut through the silence that had followed his words. Looking through the cupboards, Ellie finally found what she was looking for. She fidgeted on the counter until she had found the right mixture.

"You didn't only make mistakes. Some of the ones you think you made weren't yours," she stated firmly and placed a mug in front of Hardy. He didn't touch it.

"Drink. It's decaf. Half a spoon of sugar and a quarter of milk," she ordered. He lifted his eyes and gave her that blinking stare with his mouth open that had driven her insane during the investigation.

"Don't look at me like that. I used to be a detective too." She smirked.

His eyebrows went up and a faint smile played over his lips. "Former detectives club, ey?" he mumbled when he sipped his tea.

Ellie shrugged. "Yeah. Still not being nice to you though. Don't get any ideas."

A loud crashing noise startled them. It was followed by a toddler's scream. They both jumped to their feet and ran over to the living room. Fred had managed to use Hardy's bag to climb onto a shelf. Ellie's family heirloom vase was shattered into a million pieces and scattered around the wailing boy.

"Fred!" Ellie shouted which made her son only more upset. His bottom lip wobbled and big tears dripped to the ground.

"Blimey. He looks like you, Miller," Hardy commented, tugging on his ear.

Ellie's gaze whipped around, squinting at Hardy. "Why would you say that now?"

His pale cheeks turned rosy. "Erm... no reason." He quickly stooped down and began to pick up the broken porcelain.

Ellie was about to lay into him for his blatant lie when she noticed his white bottom. The flour from his kitchen adventure had found its way onto his black suit trousers.

"God, look at you," she huffed, and before she even realized what she was doing she patted the dust off his buttocks. He yelped in shock and jerked to a stand, heedless of the fact that Ellie was bent over him. Ellie's jaw made acquaintance with his solid skull which sent stars flashing in front of her eyes. She bit her tongue, and the metal taste in her mouth together with the spinning sensation made her nauseated instantaneously. Staggering back, she tripped and braced herself for the inevitable fall. Black was closing in on her and she fought to stay conscious. It took her a few seconds to clear her ringing head and to process that she had never hit the floor, but had ended up on the sofa. Hardy had caught her.

The shock of something terribly cold being pressed gently against her hurting jaw made her crack her eyelids. Hardy was sitting next to her, one hand holding a _'Thomas The Tank Engine'_ ice pack up to her face, the other hand pressing a kitchen towel on the back of his head. She opened her eyes fully.

"Are you bleeding?" She took the ice pack from him and leaned closer, reaching out to where he was clutching the suspiciously red towel against his scalp.

He grunted and moved away from her. A crimson red trickle of drying blood on his forehead stood out in his grey face. Tipping his head back onto the sofa, he closed his eyes. Ellie sneaked her fingers to his wrist. Her grip was tight when he tried to pull away.

"'M fine, Millah," he slurred.

His pulse was slower than she would've expected it, much slower than her own racing heartbeat. It was rock steady though.

"Is that the pacemaker's rate?" she quizzed, curiosity sparking through. He nodded, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. She let go, getting the hint that he didn't want to talk about it. She rubbed over her smarting face.

"You have a hard head," she accused him.

"And you have a hard jaw," he grumbled. His hand slid down and revealed a nasty looking gash. It had stopped bleeding.

Fred had been observing the spectacle curiously. He climbed onto the sofa, balancing himself so that he could inspect Hardy's head. His eyes grew wide.

"Owie!" he proclaimed and probed the injury with his pudgy finger. Hardy's eyes popped open and he sucked in air sharply. A groan escaped his mouth and he grabbed Fred's hand.

"Aye, wee Fred. Owie," he pressed through gritted teeth. Fred bent down and picked up the _'Thomas The Tank Engine'_ ice pack.

"Good for owie," he said and offered the already softening gel cushion to Hardy. Then he jumped down and running off, he shouted, "Needs plastie!"

Hardy's gaze trailed after him and his eyes were suspiciously watery.

"Daisy used to do that," was all he said, clutching the ice pack.

Ellie had long figured out that her former boss was way more emotional than his grumpy exterior let on. Especially when it came to his daughter. He didn't talk much about her, but whenever her name passed over his lips, there was nothing but love, longing and melancholy in it.

"Have you talked to her?" she wondered.

A smile brightened up his forlorn expression. "Aye," he breathed.

Ellie waited if he was going to share more. He didn't.

"How did it go?"

His eyes flicked from her to the ceiling and back to Ellie. His tight jaw was working its way towards an answer. Finally, a word made it out of his mouth.

"Fine."

Ellie didn't have patience for his evasive maneuvers. "Seriously? You're kiddin'. You haven't talked to her in a year. What the hell does 'fine' even mean? Fine as in you made up? Fine as in she didn't slap you in the face for keeping your little health problem a secret? Fine as in you didn't have a heart attack while talking to her?"

"It's not a heart attack, Miller," he corrected her exasperatedly.

"Oh, shut up and stop being a smartarse." Sometimes talking to him felt like being stuck in the movie _Groundhog Day_. The same repetitive cycle with the same dialogue repeating over and over again. If you were lucky, there might be one tiny thing that was different from the previous iteration of the conversation.

"How are you getting on with Tom?"

And there it was, the deflection from his own life, aiming to distract her with her own misery.

"Fine," she retorted.

Hardy's lips curled up. "I see."

Their eyes met briefly, and Hardy's smile grew wider. It freaked her out.

"Stop –"

"Being nice to you. I know," he sighed. He clambered to his feet, adding, "I'm gonna wash up. If Daisy sees me like this, she'll confine me to bed for the next week or so."

It took Ellie a few heartbeats to put two and two together. "Is she picking you up from the station?"

He shook his head which provoked a pained grimace. "No. Well, yes. Sort of."

He didn't make any sense, and it must have dawned on him because he stammered on, "I'm staying in Cardiff with my friend Duncan until I can move into my flat in Sandbrook. Daisy is visiting. His eldest son Cory is picking me up."

When she still didn't get it, steadily holding his gaze, he groaned and finally spilled what he hadn't wanted to mention.

"Cory is the _boyfriend_." Rolling off his tongue it sounded like a dirty word.

Ellie's attempt at keeping a straight face failed.

"'S not funny, Miller," he whined.

"So is she visiting you or him then?" She suppressed the chuckle that was working its way out.

"Oh, I dunno," he wheezed, his voice shifting up an octave. He thrust his hand into his hair and immediately regretted it when he scraped over the gash that the encounter with Ellie's jaw had left. The tips of his ears matched the color of the dried blood on his forehead. Ellie thought back when she'd had _that_ conversation with her late father many decades ago. He'd been horrified to find out that his baby girl was dating the local major league football hopeful. Hardy wasn't handling it any better. She almost had pity with him, but only almost. Her mother had been a much better sport.

Before Ellie could think about it, she wondered out loud, "Does Tess know about it?"

Hardy froze to the spot. The endearing blush left his face and his lips were but a thin line. She couldn't have posed a worse question. Wordlessly, he stalked out of the room, leaving a chagrined Ellie behind.

* * *

She found him in the backyard, listlessly kicking pebbles while pacing in circles. She watched him for a few minutes through the window, berating herself that she had been so insensitive. How could she have guessed that he'd completely lose his shit when she merely mentioned his ex-wife? That same person whose actions had nearly killed him, but still had the guts to mock him. _Bollocks_ , she should have known.

Ellie stepped outside and perched on the wooden table. Her gaze followed him, making her dizzy. He ignored her. She'd counted to sixty-seven, when her urge to break the silence won.

"Listen, Hardy, I didn't mean anything by it. I was thinking of my own mother."

He didn't stop his futile attempt at running off steam. "I don't wanna talk about it," he snapped at her.

"All right," she sighed, pushing off the table to go back inside. She wasn't going to pressure him. After all, it wasn't really any of her business.

She was holding the door open, her back towards to him, when he spoke up,

"Tess isn't convinced that it's the right time in Daisy's life to tell her about what really happened during the case."

Ellie let go of the handle and turned around. His tall figure was right behind her and she jumped, when she saw him. Again, he was closer than she'd reckoned.

"Jesus, Hardy. Don't sneak up on me like that. You're gonna give _me_ a heart attack some day."

He rolled his eyes in response and backed off. His hands found their way into his pockets and he ducked his head. Leaning against the door, Ellie tried to peek past those bangs that hid from the world what was going on inside that stubborn mind of his.

"What does Tess have to do with you telling your daughter the truth?" Ellie wanted to know. It wasn't that she couldn't see why he might be reluctant. She hoped to draw him out though. Getting him to talk was worse than pulling teeth.

"It's her story to tell as well, not only mine." He shot her a glance from below his shaggy hair, lips pursed to a pout.

"Maybe. But you're the one who nearly killed himself over this. As you said to me, it's time to take your life back, and coming clean to your daughter is part of it. Can't she see that?"

His chest heaved with his deep breath. "Apparently not. She threatened me that if I tell Daisy anything about what happened she'll take me to court over custody."

Ellie frowned. "On what grounds?"

"Child abandonment and failure to pay child maintenance." He looked at her with those lost eyes that weeks ago had convinced her to let herself get dragged into his shit plan.

"Does she have any evidence?" Ellie quizzed while searching his pale face.

"There was a glitch in my bank account last year and a couple of payments went wrong," he confessed.

They had sat down at the table, opposite each other, and Ellie continued her interrogation.

"How is that your doing though? Do you have proof that it was the bank's fault?"

"Erm... sort of." He trailed the lines in the wood with his finger.

"Sort of? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't wanna talk about it. It's complicated." She'd questioned enough people in her life to recognize that tone. She wasn't going to get more information on the subject so she switched gear.

"What about the abandonment?" Ellie highly doubted that Hardy would have ever left his beloved child behind.

He shrugged. "Tess argues I haven't talked to my daughter in over a year. Also that I left the house, failed to provide a place for Daisy to live, and then I moved away."

"But that's ridiculous. Didn't you tell me Daisy stopped talking to you after the end of Ashworth trial and the resulting bad press?"

He nodded with his mouth open.

"When did you move out?"

"I didn't go back... after I... after I came back from the hospital," he stammered, redness rising slowly from his neck up.

"And she's giving you a hard time over that?" He stared blankly at her. "That you didn't go back after you found out what she'd done and you nearly died because of it?"

Hardy blinked a few times. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "If you put it that way, it sounds..." he trailed off, exhaling deeply.

"It sounds ridiculous, Hardy. No court would even listen to that."

He glared at her. "I don't trust courts. Not any more," he said with a low voice.

A hot fire that nowadays was always smoldering in her stomach was stoked, and Ellie fought the urge to slap him. It wasn't his fault, but his words grazed over a wound that hadn't even began healing yet.

"Miller, I can't tell Daisy. I don't know how without destroying whatever I've rekindled with her. She's so angry at me for lying about my heart condition. You should have seen her. She told me to my face that maybe it would have been better if I had died back then." He broke off, too agitated to be able to go on. His eyes were two tormented lakes of anguish. They made her forget about her own misery. Cupping his mouth with his trembling hand, he choked on a gag. He worried her.

Putting a hand on his other arm, she inquired as gently as she could, "You don't really believe that, do you?"

The hand that had covered his mouth slid up to rub his eyelids. "I dunno. Sometimes I do," he murmured, his voice heavy with his Scottish brogue.

Her fingers had glided down his forearm to rest on his. Squeezing gingerly, she told him, "Don't ever!"

His hand fell limply from his grief stricken face and the look in his eyes reminded her of that time she'd told him he was wrong and that they were not alone. Little had she known how lonely he'd really been. A pang of belated guilt crept up on her that she'd left him behind that day and then again when they'd said goodbye. He'd come back to her though on his quest to return from a river that was still threatening to drown him. A thought struck her.

"Did you write Daisy a letter? Like what you did for me?" she wanted to know. He didn't say a word, but his widening pupils gave him away.

"Ah, so you did," Ellie confirmed her guess. A small smile flicked over her face. He tugged his hand away from hers and fished something out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Placing it on the table between them, he flattened the worn envelope. Two words were written on it in the same slightly curly lettering – Daisy Hardy.

Ellie brushed it with her fingertips. She could feel his scrutinizing gaze on her. "How honest were you in it?"

He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Completely."

She picked up his crumpled confession and folded it carefully. Then she seized his clasped hands, broke them apart, and placed the envelope in one of them. She found his eyes. "This is your answer, Alec. Give her the letter. You said it's time for you to take your life back. It doesn't matter what Tess wants. She doesn't hold any power over you. And God knows, you owe her no loyalty."

"I didn't ruin my life so that Daisy will end up hating her mother after all," he argued weakly.

"No," she retorted. "You ruined your life so that she ended up hating you. As you said yourself, it was a shit plan. It's time to let go."

He caressed the edges of the envelope, then he traced the letters. He briefly paused over the last name.

"She changed it. Took on her mother's surname. Tess called me some time after Ashworth's trial had fallen apart and told me that Daisy demanded to stop carrying my name. She wanted to make it official, but I refused to sign the paperwork at first." His eyes were shining. "Then I gave in. I don't even know why. I guess I didn't want to give her another reason to be mad at me." His fingertip smoothed over a tear drop that had fallen onto the 'Y', resulting in a long thin smudge. "All I ever wanted was to make her happy." His voice cracked.

"Then tell her the truth. She's older now. Tell her why you did it and encourage her to talk to Tess. She might be angry for a while, but she'll come around. No use in continuing this painful charade," Ellie urged him. "Living a lie doesn't make you happy." The fire was burning higher in her, thinking about how she didn't know what had been a lie in her life and what not. "You want her to hear it from you and not read it in the papers once details of Claire's confession will leak out to the press."

His head jerked up and his wide eyes caught hers. It had been a couple of weeks since Joe's trial had ended. The murderous Sandbrook trio's arrest had been overshadowed by the news of Joe's acquittal. They'd been taken into custody in Broadchurch, far away from the town that had been shaken by their sinister deeds two years ago. All the journalists had had only eyes for the Latimers, and miraculously Hardy's stunt in the courthouse had gone unnoticed. With the exception of Olly, but Ellie put an end to it before her nephew could even get started. After they'd run Joe out of town, she had dragged Olly to the edge of the cliff and pointed out the patch of beach were Jack Marshall had been found. Then she told him that he'd left a path of destruction in his wake, from slandering Jack to letting the enemy into his home for a quick shag. If he'd even went as far as to think about printing one word of what had happened that day, he might as well follow Joe to Sheffield because he wouldn't be welcome any longer. Apparently, her fury driven words had impressed him enough and nothing had trickled out. She didn't have to tell Maggie. However, once all the official statements would be collected, or at the latest when the plea hearings would be announced, the press were sure to descend upon the story and feast on all the dirty details like vultures. Hardy was running out of time.

Judging by his expression, he knew it too. He dragged his hands over his scrunched up face. "Right," he sighed. He carefully put the letter back into his pocket. His gaze wandered through the yard and got stuck on the shed.

"How do you do it, Miller? How can you leave it all behind and go on with your life?"

"Who says I can?" she replied quietly. Her eyes were fixed on the place where she thought that Joe had ended it all. He'd said he was tired of hiding. It had been a lie like everything else. Bastard and coward that he was, he had hidden behind more fabrications of the truth.

"'M sorry, Ellie. I failed you and the Latimers." He was utterly sincere.

They were both staring at the shed. "No you didn't. You did everything that you could. You risked your life..." – a snort escaped him – "... and all I did was ruin the best chance that we had to get him." She paused, listlessly chasing midges with her hand. The heat had brought them out. Then she squashed one with a hard hit. "I don't feel any remorse for what I did to him," she added, a furrow parting her forehead. "Is that wrong?"

It took him a long time to answer. When he finally did, his voice was soft. "No, it's not. It's human."

"But I –"

"Ellie, don't." He'd turned to catch her line of sight. "I shouldn't have let you go in there. Yes, you beat him, but I should have _known_. I watched the tape. It wasn't until he said he wants to see Tom when you attacked him. You're a _mother_ , you defended your children." His tone had lost all the usual harshness, and his dark eyes exposed his heart and soul to the world.

And for the first time since she'd met Alec Hardy, Ellie saw the true person that was hiding behind the rude, obstinate, scruff mask. His deeply caring nature that would always put the well-being of someone else before his own. It was his greatest weakness and had gotten him into trouble over and over again, but he would never change. Even now, he was trying to take the guilt away from her, helping her to come to terms with her actions. He'd apologized for haunting her, he'd taken responsibility for her shortcomings. He'd been there when no one else had because he'd wanted to protect her from a path he'd already gone down and struggled to return from.

The sun had made its way around and was heating up the back yard. Hardy blinked against the light, and with that the mask came down again. A seagull's squawk broke the silence and Hardy rolled his eyes.

"God, I hate seagulls," he groaned. "Unrelentingly cawing away early in the morning, never stopping. And then the way they hop and stare at you with those beady eyes. And why are there always so many? It's like in that movie, you know, Hitchcock's The Birds. First there is one and then they all flock together and they look at you and you just _know_ something's up. They steal your food too. Scared the shit out of Daisy when she was a wee lass. Snatched her sandwich right out of her hands. She screamed for an hour and I had to go chase those bloody birds for the rest of the holiday." He stopped abruptly, sniffing loudly.

Ellie looked at him, then at the seagull high in the sky, and back at the man who had gone from spilling his deepest thoughts to rambling about seagulls in lightning speed. Her eyebrow went up. "And I thought the incessant question list thing was unnerving. Is that a side effect of the pacemaker or have you always been like that?"

His daggered glare didn't work on her. She'd acquired immunity sometime between being yelled at for Olly's twitter misstep and being ordered to find Susan Wright's bastard dog. Their eyes locked in a staring contest. Hardy blinked first.

"You lose," Ellie announced triumphantly.

There was a hint of a smile, more in his eyes than anywhere else on his face. "Fine. I'll owe you lunch then. I know a place that has a great salad bar."

She whacked him on his arm. "Knob."

"What? I thought you liked salad?" he asked, mustering the most innocent tone he could. The crinkles around his eyes gave him away though.

"I hope you never develop a gambling habit. Your poker face is rubbish, Hardy. How you can even sit through an interrogation is a mystery to me."

"Don't need to a poker face if I'm DI Shitface," he quipped.

Ellie laughed. And then almost choked on her own spit when she realized that he'd made a joke. A coughing fit shuddered through her while Hardy patted her back.

"There, there. Don't die on me because you find something that I said funny." She caught a glimpse of his amused face.

It was too much for Ellie. She could handle arsehole Hardy, sarcastic Hardy, taciturn Hardy, and even dying Hardy. But sensitive, insightful and bloody pitiful-joke-cracking Hardy was something her view of the world needed adjusting to.

Before she was forced to utter a coherent response, Tom slammed the door open and barged out into the yard.

"Mum, Fred is sticking plasters everywhere," he complained. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noted Hardy's hand resting on his mother's back. Hardy yanked his arm away as if Ellie was on fire and his face turned bright red.

Tom shook his head, and turning around, he muttered, "I don't even wanna know." The condemnation that those few words carried was sizable. The door fell shut behind him.

Ellie and Hardy looked at each other. Hardy's eyebrow went up.

"It's refreshing to see that my teenager isn't the only one who disapproves of my actions. Always good to have a second opinion on such things," he stated sarcastically.

"Then I can't wait to meet Daisy. I'm sure she'd be more than thrilled to let me know what a shit mother I am," Ellie retorted.

Hardy gave her an odd look. "You would want to meet my daughter?"

Ellie wasn't sure if she only imagined the hopeful note behind the disbelief that laced his words. Did she really want to get this involved with him though? Sandbrook had invaded her life in Broadchurch, and the more she learned about his past, the more she wondered if she really wanted to get closer. She could feel his gaze resting on her, waiting for an answer.

Again, their eyes met. His pupils were wide, unable to hide that hopeful glimmer that his words had concealed so much better. She had no idea why he'd want her to meet his only child, but one look at him made his desire obvious to her.

She put her hand on his arm and with a genuine smile, she said, "I'd love to."

His eyes brightened while his lips curled up, transforming his face into a gorgeous canvas of happiness. She'd never seen him like that. It was quite a sight. Ellie felt a faint heat on her cheeks. _Blimey_ , Alec bloody Hardy had made her blush.

"I think you'd like her. She agrees with you that I'm extremely irritating." The smile lingered in his eyes. He squeezed her hand and stood up. Wincing, he brushed over his scalp. There was blood on his fingertips. He eyed it and then sighed.

"Let me see if I can salvage one of those plasters that Fred's been using for home improvement." He stalked off and left her behind to fight her own demons for the second time this day. At least she wasn't a sobbing mess like earlier.

Slowly, she got to her feet and walked over to the shed. She hadn't been in there since they'd moved back. There were too many of Joe's belongings hiding behind those wooden boards. Reluctantly, she tugged at the door.

"We can clean it out together," Tom offered. Ellie spun around. Tom's jaw was set with a determination she hadn't seen in her son before. His eyes were moist, but he was bravely holding back those tears that were already dripping down her cheeks.

"Oh, Tom," Ellie whispered, her voice breaking. He stepped closer and put his arm around her shoulders. He was taller than her now, growing up into a man way too fast. He pulled her into a hug. Ellie's gaze wandered to the kitchen window. Hardy was watching them, balancing Fred on his hips. When their line of sight crossed, he nodded and smiled. Then he turned his attention to Fred who was pointing vigorously at something. They disappeared.

"I love you, Mum. More than chocolate," Tom mumbled, his face pressed against her.

"I love you too."

"We'll be all right, Mum," he reassured her, giving her one tight squeeze before he let her out of his arms. She looked into his face and wiped a tear from his cheek. Without a word, he swung the door open and bravely walked inside and Ellie followed.

* * *

Three hours later, two piles were forming in the backyard. A big one with things that needed to be thrown out and another, smaller one with Joe's personal belongings. Ellie dumped more junk onto the big heap, when she heard a noise behind her.

"Erm... thought you two might be thirsty or hungry. You didn't have breakfast."

Ellie turned around. A tray with suspiciously healthy looking sandwiches, a couple of glasses of water, a bowl of salad, and some cookies was sitting on the table. The food and beverages were neatly arranged next to plates, cutlery, and napkins. Hardy rubbed the back of his head, eyeing her expectantly.

Tom spotted the feast and descended ravenously upon it. A boyish excitement brightened up Hardy's face when he saw Tom's eagerness. Too perplexed, Ellie sat down and sipped on the water. Hardy went back inside, Fred trailing him on his heels. He returned with two cups of tea. Placing one in front of her, he took a seat at the edge of the bench, cradling his mug. Fred was in hot pursuit and immediately climbed onto his lap.

"Did he leave you alone at all?" Ellie had finally found her voice.

Shaking his head, Hardy perched Fred on his long legs and tried to interest him in a slice of cucumber. To Ellie's surprise, Fred took it and after a thorough inspection shoved the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

"More?" Fred pointed at the sandwich that Hardy had deconstructed in order to get to the cucumber.

"How did you do that? He doesn't touch anything green."

"I let him help cut it," Hardy said with a smirk.

"What? You gave him a knife?" The sharpness in Ellie's voice rivalled any blade she had in the kitchen.

"Ouou, you're in trouble," Tom spit out in between wolfing down bites.

Ducking his head in a futile attempt to dodge Ellie's death stare, Hardy muttered, "I always am. Doesn't make a difference."

Ellie snatched up Fred and scrutinized his pudgy fingers. They were all in pristine shape. Fred was oblivious of his surroundings and chewed happily on another slice that he had helped cutting.

"He's fine, Miller," Hardy reassured her. "I gave him a plastic knife. Contrary to what you might believe I'm not an imbecile. I've been around kids."

Ellie squinted at Hardy's thumb. "Is that a cut?"

Hardy's face turned crimson and he hid his hand in his pocket.

Tom chortled, nearly choking on his second sandwich. "Maybe you should have used that plastic knife yourself," he croaked in between coughs.

Ellie giggled and Hardy fled the scene, muttering something about getting a banana for Fred who followed him faithfully.

"If he stays any longer, we'll need a new first-aid kit," Tom announced sarcastically. "Did he tell you that he burned himself this morning while making breakfast?"

"You're kiddin'?"

Tom nodded vigorously while rinsing down the last bite of bread with a swig of water.

"This man is a menace to himself," Ellie sighed.

"Makes bloody good sandwiches though," Tom commented.

"Bloody being the operative word here."

Tom's eyes widened. He stared at the last remaining evidence of Hardy's kitchen adventures. "You don't think I just ate...," he trailed off, horrified by the implication of his mother's words.

Ellie leaned over and ruffled his hair. "Nah, he wouldn't leave any traces. He's a detective, he'd know how to cover his tracks."

Tom growled and pulled his head away from under his mother's hand. "Mum, don't do that."

Ellie rolled her eyes and grabbed the last sandwich. Her gaze fell on their day's work. Who would have thought that Hardy's nightly intrusion would lead to anything good? She took a bite.

 _Bloody hell._ Tom had been right. It was delicious.

When Hardy emerged from the house, Fred charging ahead of him, Ellie wondered if being nice to the wanker might not be the worst thing in her life. At least she'd get her children fed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he demanded to know. Ellie squinted against the sunlight and shadowed her eyes with her hand. His face was obscured by his own shadow and his unruly fringe.

"Are you ever gonna get a haircut?" she teased.

"Are you ever gonna shut up?" he threw back at her.

"You never gave me the promised money to do so," she retorted.

He snorted. "My train's leaving in an hour. You can drive me."

"God, would it hurt you to ask politely? Knob," she growled.

Something resembling a laugh escaped his mouth. "You never paid up either."

Ellie's mouth gaped open. He'd got her. A wide grin exposed all the crinkles around his eyes and two surprise dimples on his gaunt cheeks. Fred tugged on Hardy's trousers, and when he had his attention he handed over the banana peel. There was a frown etched onto his little forehead.

"What's wrong, wee Fred?"

"Alec go bye-bye?"

Hardy stooped down and took the toddler's hand. "Aye. 'M sorry, wee Fred," he confirmed softly.

Fred lunged his little body at Hardy, burying his already tear stained face in his chest. Hardy's eyes grew wide. He wrapped his arm around the boy and ran the fingers of his other hand through his curly hair.

Before Ellie knew it, she said, "He could come back sometime, Fred." Hardy's head snapped up, fixing his gaze on her.

"Aye, I could," he agreed quietly. Fred seemed pleased with the conversation and proceeded to inspect the junk pile. Hardy stood, sniffing loudly. Announcing he'd better make sure Fred hadn't taken anything from his bag, he stalked off into the house without another word. Ellie stared after him, slowly replaying the brief exchange that just had transpired in her mind. _Bloody hell_. There was no denying it. She'd invited Hardy to visit again.

* * *

When she dropped him off at the station half hour later, they still hadn't said anything further. He lingered at the car until he finally found the courage to speak.

"Thanks for taking me in last night." He hesitated. "It was nice, Miller. Good..." – again he struggled for the words – "... good talking."

Ellie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had poured out his soul, cooked for her children and apparently taken her toddler's heart by storm in less than a day.

"Yeah, it was nice." Apparently her ability to formulate her thoughts wasn't any better. "Hope the head's okay."

"'M fine. I should go," he mumbled. "Take care of yourself, Miller." He started to walk away, when Ellie called him back.

"No hug?"

He stopped. He beckoned her over and they exchange a quick but tight embrace. "Call me," she whispered before he let her go. A small smile played over his lips. He nodded and then trudged off.

Ellie watched him leave, taking with him some of that burden that she'd been carrying. His frail figure didn't let on to how much of a solid rock he'd been for her ever since he'd stepped into her life. The certainty that she could always lean on him left her with a very different warmth in her stomach than the fire that Joe had sparked. When he disappeared from her sight, black coat billowing behind him, she hoped he knew he could lean on her too.


	11. Chapter 10 - The Long Goodbye

**A/N:** It has been way too long since the last update, but RL this past month has been extremely busy, so I apologize. I also apologize for not replying to all the lovely comments, but I appreciate every one of them. Thanks to all of you who read, leave kudos or comments – it means a lot. Thank you also to three wonderful ladies – HAZELMIST, KTROSE and LILY_DRAGON – who were so kind to take a look and fix my mistakes. I owe you!

And finally we are at that point... Alec returns to Sandbrook...

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – The Long Goodbye**

Hardy watched Daisy saying goodbye to Cory. He most definitely wasn't stalking them. Even if peeking around the pillar he was hiding behind might have been considered as such by an innocent bystander. They were holding hands, standing way too close for Hardy's comfort. Cory was a lot taller than his little girl, and she had to tilt her head back to meet Cory's eyes. He smiled at something she'd said and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. Her clear laughter carried through the air, a bittersweet sound in Hardy's ear.

He was happy for her, but there was a pang of jealousy somewhere deep inside. It had nearly taken him Daisy's entire visit at Duncan's house to figure out what it was that bothered him. Duncan had teased him that he didn't want to share his daughter with another man in her life. But that wasn't it. Hardy was envious of all the time the young man had spent with Daisy while he had been far away and not a part of her life at all. Cory _knew_ Daisy, whereas with every quip or joke that Daisy made Hardy's ignorance became more and more obvious.

It hurt.

Sighing, Hardy turned away. They'd all taken the same train to Sandbrook. Cory was journeying on to London and Daisy was going home to her mother. He picked up his bags and trudged towards the platform's exit, leaving them behind. He was on his own. He'd gotten used to the feeling over the last two years, so why did it feel so wrong then?

His new flat was quite far from the train station, but he decided against calling for a taxi. A walk would hopefully clear his head before confronting the reality of being alone in that place that was supposed to be his home now.

"Alec?"

He stopped and groaned inside. Bumping into Tess was the last thing he needed at this moment. Daisy had said that her mother would pick her up, but he had hoped to avoid her. She'd come up behind him and had placed her hand on his upper arm. A warm flush ran through him, fueled by years of memories of her gentle loving touch. His body was committing treason, ignoring the desperate screams of his brain that this woman wasn't good for him. Maybe moving back to Sandbrook hadn't been a good idea after all. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut before facing her.

"Tess." He acknowledged her with a nod. He hadn't seen her since they'd arrested Ricky Gillespie, Ashworth, and Claire. They had recently talked on the phone which had ended in her hanging up on him after threatening him about custody arrangements for Daisy.

"I didn't know you'd be coming on the same train. Daisy didn't mention it."

Even after knowing her for almost two decades, he couldn't decide if it was suspicion or glee in her voice. No matter what it was though, he didn't enjoy the smoldering hostility.

Shrugging, he muttered, "There aren't that many trains from Cardiff."

"Where is she then?"

"Seeing Cory off," he grumbled.

A smirk grew on her face and Hardy hated himself for being so transparent. "Look at you. You're jealous," she mocked him with clear pleasure.

"No. I'm not," he denied meekly.

She knew him too well. "Liar. I hope you didn't spoil her visit. They hadn't seen each other for a while."

" _They_ hadn't seen each other? What about me?" he blurted out, immediately regretting his words.

"Seriously? You're going to whine about not seeing your daughter when you're the one who moved away and abandoned her," she threw at him.

Hardy pressed his lips together, trying to keep his composure. His hand curled around his pills in his pocket and he dug his nails into his palms. It wasn't as painful as the jolt in his chest that whipped his erratic heartbeat into order, but it gave him enough focus to hide from Tess how much her venom had hurt him.

"He didn't abandon me, Mum," a quiet voice stated behind him. "I didn't want to talk to him. That's very different."

Tess ignored their daughter and stepped closer. Scrutinizing him, she snatched his wrist. _Bloody hell_ , she must have noticed something after all. Their eyes met, and without saying anything, she dragged him over to a small wall and shoved him down to sit on it. Daisy's observational skills were just as sharp and he was suddenly faced with two fussing females.

"Look what you did, Mum!" Daisy exclaimed angrily. "You made the thing go off. Why can't you leave him alone?"

"Daisy! Don't speak to me like that," Tess ordered her sharply.

They were standing right in front of him, mirroring each other's anger. Hardy had witnessed their standoffs many times in his life, but he had never realized how eerily similar they were in their fury. It was disconcerting.

"Please, Te–" He didn't get to finish.

"If you accuse Dad of stupid shit, I won't stand there and say nothing. You have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Daisy cut him off, her voice growing louder.

Tess' eyes narrowed and a faint red appeared on her cheeks. Hardy knew where this would go. Nowhere good.

"Darl–" Again he was interrupted.

"Don't get involved in things that are none of your business," Tess snapped at Daisy.

Hardy sighed and leaned back. From here on, all he could do was watch the spectacle.

"How is that none of my business? You lied to me for two years. You never said anything about Dad's heart condition. You let him get away with not taking care of himself. You –"

"Enough," Tess snarled. She was flushed to her hairline and the furious glimmer in her blue eyes reminded Hardy of the days he used to be on the receiving end of that glare. Ducking his head, he squinted at his daughter. His worry was unfounded. She was more than capable of standing her ground.

"Oh, you don't like hearing the truth, do you? Well, tough shit, Mum. Dad told me everything and I finally get it."

Tess' face paled. Her gaze whipped over to Hardy who didn't know where to look.

"You told her _everything_?" she hissed quietly.

If they'd been in a cartoon, a little meter with an arrow quivering in the red zone would have gone off, blaring its alarm, steaming and with blinking warning letters.

He cleared his voice and answered carefully, "About the heart. That's what she wanted to know about."

The pacemaker sent another twinge through his chest and Hardy gave in. He pulled the pills out and swallowed two. Absorbed in what was a routine task to him, their silent stares went unnoticed at first. Eventually his tired mind caught on to the fact that they had stopped arguing. He raised his gaze and was met with yet another disconcerting mirror image of daughter and mother. This time it was a worried one though, all anger dissipated.

"What?" he growled.

"Are you all right?" Tess wanted to know, a furrow parting her brows.

Getting up, he sighed, "'M fine."

For a change, he actually was. Or at least measured by his low standards. A month ago he would have probably passed out, but things were different now. Neither one of them had any idea how bad he'd been, and he had no intention of sharing any memories of those dark lonely hours with them.

"Shit you are," Daisy retorted, fixing her distressed eyes on him.

Hardy hated seeing her like that. His fear of that worried face had been one of the reasons he'd failed at telling her the truth. She was his child, far from grown up, and way too young to bear the burden of a sickly parent. A quick step took him right next to her. Placing a steady hand on her shoulder, he reassured her, "Darlin', please trust me. It's under control. Remember, no more broken heart? Hm?"

Guilt over bending the truth once more gripped him, but the urge to sooth his frightened child won as it had so many times before. He held up his palm with the blister pack.

"I used to take those several times a day. Didn't even help that much. I've barely needed them this past weekend."

Her dubious expression made it clear that she wasn't impressed by his argument.

"Daize, if he says he's fine then we should believe him," Tess encouraged her to listen to her father.

Daisy spun around. "Seriously, Mum? He lied to us for weeks until you found out about it when he nearly died. How can you suggest that he can be trusted?"

Her words stung, and Hardy couldn't help but think that Daisy was referring to more than his health issues. Tess' eyes widened and she exchanged a brief glance with the man she'd known for two decades. The lines in her face that he had never noted before softened.

"I think he learned his lesson," Tess said, her gaze still resting on Hardy. "We all did," she added wistfully.

Silence fell between them. Hardy dug his hands deep into his pockets and studied the stains on his bags intently. He wanted to believe what Tess had said, but her words and actions didn't match. The past two years had left their marks on him, changing him forever. He wasn't sure if he'd learned anything though.

"Do you have your car?" Tess asked softly after minutes had passed with them just standing there.

"No. Not supposed to drive yet," he mumbled. His car had been left behind with so many other things of his past life.

"Do you need a ride?"

He contemplated it for a split second but then declined. The thought of her dropping him off at his new and desolate flat and then taking Daisy with her to the place he used to call home was unbearable.

"You're sure?" Doubt was lacing her voice.

"Aye. I might walk."

"Walk?" Daisy exclaimed. "That's way too far, especially with the bags."

"Daize, he's an adult. He can make his own decisions."

Daisy snorted in disagreement. "Bullshit. A five-year-old has more common sense than he does." She resolutely picked up his bags and stormed off toward the parking lot.

Tess and Hardy sighed in unison. Shaking his head, he gave his former wife a small smile. She shrugged her shoulders, shot him a glance from below with those smoky blue eyes of hers, and stated drily, "She's your daughter."

He cocked his head and ran his tongue over his teeth. Raising his eyebrow, he replied, "I see. _Now_ she's mine."

Tess grinned. It was painful how easy it was to fall back into the familiar banter. She stepped closer and put her hand on his left shoulder. She patted it a few times, then let her fingers glide along his collarbone until her palm came to rest over the pacemaker box. It was a gentle touch, but regardless it sent pins and needles down his spine. She gently cupped the bump on his chest and met his gaze.

"She's always been, Alec." Their eyes didn't leave each other's. "I want to apologize for what I said during our last phone call. It was out of line to threaten you. I'm not ready yet to tell her the truth. She'll hate me and I don't know if I have the same courage as you had to face that. You've always been stronger than me and I could never accept that."

He knew how much this admission must have cost her.

"I'm not as strong as you think I am. Not any more," he confessed quietly, echoing what he had told Daisy not too long ago.

Tears glittered in her eyes that were closer than they had been in a long time. Her warm hand moved up from his chest to brush an unruly lock of hair out of his face.

"Oh, Alec," she whispered, her long lashes heavy with her tears. The urge to comfort her was overwhelming and he gave in. He'd never been able to see her cry, and it hadn't changed. He tugged her close to his chest and rested his chin on her head. Her familiar smell engulfed him, comforting and choking him at the same time.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Hardy let out a long breath. She'd said it before, but it felt differently this time. There was a finality to it, and for the first time since he'd heard the words _'But I don't love you any more'_ he felt deep inside his mending heart that it was truly over. He held her silently until she moved and broke free from him. He let her go, and with it all his starry-eyed dreams of clinging on to the family he hadn't had in years.

It was time to say goodbye.

"I'll walk home," he said, smiling sadly at her.

She nodded, her expression equally somber. "All right. What about your bags?"

"Daisy knows the address. There is a doorman. Maybe you could drop them off?" he suggested, unsure of how to navigate this uncharted territory of truce.

"Sounds fine. We'll leave them there for you. Bye, Alec." There was a tremble in her voice that surprised him. She quickly turned to walk away.

"Goodbye, Tess," he called after her. She waved wordlessly and disappeared around the corner.

He was alone, but it didn't feel as wrong.

* * *

Hardy meandered through the streets of Sandbrook without giving it much thought. His feet took him from the more modern part of town to the older core and towards the river. The ground changed from smooth pavement to cobblestone. It was nowhere near his new flat, but he didn't mind. His desire of going there had decreased with every step he'd taken.

Inevitably he ended up at the riverbank. He should have known that he'd be drawn to it, no matter how much he wanted to run away from everything that it stood for. Here, the water was reined in by a pretty stone embankment, opening up to an oasis of peace and quiet within the bustling town center. Iron cast benches were placed under beech trees, and beds of flowers, heavy with a multitude of colorful blossoms, brightened up the grey of the granite.

Hardy stood there for a few heartbeats, staring out onto the water. There was no never-ending sky here, no horizon, and the puny drop of the embankment didn't make up for the lack of the majestic drop of the Broadchurch cliffs. Plopping down onto the bench closest to him, he scolded himself for missing something that he'd detested his whole life.

Leaning back on the iron lattice work, he tipped his head to rest it against the tree that was lending its shade to the spot he was sitting at. Tired from his aimless walk, his eyelids drooped shut. Memories of the sound of waves lapping onto the shore mixed with the quiet trickle of the streaming river, lulling him to sleep. He allowed himself to give in to the weariness, but even more so to the unexpected soothing effect his visit at the river had on him. Maybe he could make peace after all.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was unable to gauge how much time had passed. His gaze wandered aimlessly from the slow current to the lush flowers. Blue and purple blossoms in all shades swayed gently in the pleasant breeze that had helped to cool down the afternoon heat. Another memory was triggered. Determined, Hardy got up. He knew where he needed to go next.

* * *

Hardy loitered at the big double doors that had swung shut behind him. The cold mist was like a wall and it made it hard to breathe. The air was pregnant with sweet and earthy odors and left Hardy feeling queasy.

His eyes drifted over the rows of bouquets and flower arrangements. Dark red roses seemed to dominate the picture, finding their ways into nearly all the pieces on display. White calla lilies, chrysanthemums, and the odd orchid was sprinkled in between the burgundy of the plump blossoms. They contrasted with the golden and silver ribbons and medallions that delivered the messages of the loved ones who'd been left behind.

Hardy inhaled the sickeningly thick air and stepped between the rows of benches heavy with opportunities to wish those well that didn't need it any more.

"Can I help you?" a girl younger than the one he had come to visit greeted him. Wild curls that flowed down her dark blue dress framed her pale face. An eerie feeling crept up on him as she stared him down.

He cleared his throat. "Erm… I was wondering if you'd had anything that wasn't red roses or white roses, or roses at all."

The girl gave him a funny look as if his request was an unthinkable one.

"I've got yellow ones," she stated with an indignant air to her tone.

Hardy sighed. "I was perhaps thinking of pansies or maybe forget-me-nots? Something purple or blue?"

The girl eyed him from below, frowning and chewing her lip. "Oh, you're one of those," she said as if that explained it all.

Hardy blankly stared at her, wondering who the hell _'those'_ were. Considering everything, he probably fit right in.

"Yup, apparently so," he confessed insecurely.

It must have been what she wanted to hear because she beckoned him to follow her. She led him far into the greenhouse, away from the chill that kept flowers alive that in return were meant to keep alive the memory of the ones gone by. When they reached the very far end, the musty warm humidity was nearly too much to bear. Hardy inhaled deeply, regretting it quickly. His stomach lurched and he swallowed hard to keep his bile down.

It had been worth the journey though. On a rickety table, a small but decent collection of pansies, asters, forget-me-nots, and other flowers that he didn't recognize was on display. They were huddled together as if they had to band together against all the more luscious plants.

Hardy tugged insecurely on his earlobe, his gaze flicking over the choices. He'd never been good at making these kind of decisions. Rolling her eyes, the girl helped him pick two pots with a lavishly violet pansy and another one with deep blue forget-me-nots. She suggested a bigger nicer piece of pottery to group them in. After his approval, she swiftly arranged the flowers. It turned out beautiful.

"I have some lovely bluebells that would go well with it," she said without looking at Hardy.

His heart stuttered, immediately reined in by his pacemaker. Teetering to the side, he gripped the edge of the table.

"No. No bluebells." His voice could have come from a tomb, it was so gravelly.

The girl lifted her head and met his dark eyes. "Oh, it's for _her_ ," she whispered.

Hardy didn't blink. The girl stepped up, uncomfortably close now, and looked him up and down. Her features softened, dropping the scowl and indignation she'd carried like a shield. Time stretched until she finally breathed,

"And you're the knight who found her."

Hardy's knees grew wobbly. He leaned heavily on the table that bent under his weight.

"Violet?" a male voice called out.

"Over here, Dad!" she replied, her eyes still fixed on Hardy as if he was a long awaited apparition.

A man his age approached them quickly. "Violet, what are you doing here?"

He briefly glanced at Hardy's pale figure.

"You know you're not supposed to spook the customers," he chastised his daughter and then addressed Hardy, "I'm sorry. She has a vivid but morbid imagination. Probably growing up in the cemetery greenhouse didn't help with that."

He sighed and made haste to usher his daughter away. She whispered something into his ear before running away. The man's eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at Hardy.

Hardy meanwhile felt decidedly awkward under the scrutiny of father and daughter. Whatever fantasy was going on in the girl's head, her father obviously was well aware of it.

The man picked up the flower pot Violet had arranged and cradled it carefully in his arms. He shot him a questioning glance. "Are these the ones you wanted?"

Hardy nodded, not trusting his voice. The man lead him back to the brighter parts of the greenhouse.

Hardy was about to pull out his wallet when the man held him back.

"It's all right. The least I can do is to let you have them for free after Violet played her little game with you. She knows the story of all the young women or girls who are resting out there and has come up with her own romanticized version for each one of them."

"I can't let you do that," Hardy protested.

"Please. It would mean something to her." The man smiled at him. Hardy couldn't shed the impression that it might not only mean something to Violet, but also to her father.

"Fine," he conceded. The man smiled with a glimmer in his eyes.

When Hardy was about to leave, he heard his voice behind him.

"Thank you for remembering."

Hardy stumbled through the swinging doors, sucking in the clear crisp air. With every breath that rid his lungs of the intoxicating air from inside the greenhouse, he wondered more and more if he had only hallucinated the whole encounter. Fighting his unsettledness, he held on tight to the pot with the purple and blue flowers.

Then he slowly trudged over the fine gravel to find the place he had come to visit.

* * *

It was a simple headstone, dark granite with modern lettering. This grave was fairly new and her own, not like the one she'd been abandoned in. Tess had been the one to exhume her, but Hardy had gotten it out of Ricky where he'd hidden Lisa Newbery's body.

His eyes wandered over the letters. Only her name and the dates. No poem or other words to remember her by. He wasn't surprised and it felt right to him. Red and white flowers from the arrangements that had come with her funeral hung their heads. The wilting blossoms reminded him of death and decay more than of anything else.

He stooped down and brushed away some of the fallen petals, clearing out a spot for the pot he'd brought. He put it down gently, pressing it into the loose earth. The vivid purple and blue stood out against the rest of the flowers, a lively memory for the young woman that finally could rest properly. He placed his palm on the granite that bordered her grave. It was warm from the sun that had been heating it in the late afternoon.

A sob choked in his throat. Then another and another, until his tears dripped on the dark shiny stone, leaving tiny dots and marking it with his sorrow. He'd made good on his word, he'd –

"You found her," a quiet voice finished his thoughts for him.

Hardy's head snapped up, only to stare into those watery blue eyes that Lisa had shared with her mother Marilyn. Hardy tried to clamber to his feet, but the overwhelming emotions had taken a toll. His rubbery legs refused to oblige, and he would have fallen if Marilyn's strong hand hadn't steadied him. She pulled him up and propped him unceremoniously against the next best tombstone.

"Didn't I tell you to take care of yourself?" she chastised him.

Hardy's cheeks flushed. "I did," he protested meekly.

Her eyebrow arched up. "You do look a bit better than when I saw you last on the telly." She shot him a quick sideways glance and then rested her eyes on the flowers he brought.

"You remembered," she said with a sad smile.

"How could I ever forget?" Two years of sorrow and despair echoed in his words.

Marilyn bent down and plucked at some of the dying flowers.

"Maybe it's time you did," she suggested with a quiet resolve in her voice.

Hardy swallowed around the lump in his throat. She was right, but there were days when leaving the river behind seemed like an almost impossible feat. And then there were those days when his heart was lighter, when he could see a future. It was a new and thrilling sensation, one that he cherished greatly. Hardy watched her small figure tending to her daughter's grave, marveling at the strength this woman had.

"I don't agree with them, by the way," she proclaimed sternly, ripping off a dead rose.

"About what?"

"Worst Cop in Britain." She stood abruptly and faced him. "That's not what you are. You made good on what you promised me. You never gave up, despite everything."

Hardy dropped his gaze and studied the pattern of the pebbles under his feet. "I didn't do it, Marilyn," he admitted.

"Nonsense. You might have had some help, but – "

"No, that's not what I meant," he interrupted her and found her eyes. "I didn't lose the pendant."

He watched the words sinking in. First, her face paled and her eyes grew wide. Then she squinted at him, not quite believing what he'd said, and lastly she turned bright red.

"You bloody moron!" she yelled at him and whacked him on the arm. It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Not that he knew what to expect, but certainly not being chastised like a school boy. He rubbed his arm slowly, idly wondering how Marilyn and Miller seemed to instinctively go for the exact same spot. It didn't take her sharp mind long to come up with the question he'd dreaded.

"Who for heaven's sake did you want to protect to take the blame for this? It fucking _ruined_ you," she exclaimed. Genuinely upset, she paced up and down the narrow path between the graves.

"Was it the woman you had the affair with?"

Hardy winced and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Marilyn, I didn't have an affair," he explained quietly. That made her stop. Her breath hitched.

"You didn't have –" She broke off. "But Karen White's article... the defense barrister... they all said..." she stammered incredulously.

Hardy leaned heavily against the marble of the headstone Marilyn had perched him on before. He blinked at her, his vision tunneling in on her.

"They got it wrong," he wheezed while he waited for the pacemaker to take over his slowing heartbeat.

A warm hand came to rest on his hunched over shoulders. "Are you all right? What's going on?" The anger was gone from her voice.

There was a twinge in his chest and his heart faithfully thudded on at a more appropriate pace. Hardy cursed at how tedious the process of fine tuning the pacemaker was and made a mental note to call Emily as soon as he was alone.

He straightened his lanky body. "'M fine. I have a pacemaker now. Still fiddling around with the right settings though," he reassured her.

She tilted her head. "So you did take care of yourself."

"Aye," he confirmed tiredly. The three letters didn't quite do justice to the story, but it was good enough for now. He passed a hand over his face and pushed off the tombstone, hoping in vain that she wouldn't come back to what they'd talked about.

"What happened with the pendant, DI Hardy?" she wanted to know.

"'S not DI anymore," he mumbled, buying himself time to find the right things to say. He was sure she wouldn't let him get away with a one word answer to that question. He considered making an excuse, trying to hide behind police procedure, but it didn't feel right. Not while they were standing next to Lisa's resting place.

"You're right. I was trying to protect someone," he began reluctantly.

"Who?"

Hardy remained silent, chewing his lower lip and staring at the blue sky. He couldn't admit to the truth, even now after all this time.

"They said it was your car. You didn't deny it. So who did you..." She paused. Her gaze had fallen on his fingers that were draped over the marble, barren without the wedding band that had been there for almost fifteen years. Marilyn's hand came up to her mouth.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, "It was your wife."

He sucked in air sharply and looked away. "You should consider a career in the police force," he said flatly in a feeble attempt to deflect from his anguish.

She brushed his elbow, "I'm so sorry." Coming from her, it didn't sound trite.

"You must have loved her very much if you were willing to protect her after all this," she added gently.

Hardy snorted. "I guess there was a time when that was the case. But that wasn't why I did what I did."

Curiosity shone in her eyes.

"I did it for my daughter Daisy. Didn't want her to find out about what her mother had done. I also needed her mother to keep her job."

She frowned. "But why would you do that? Why lie to your child and the world?"

Hardy stepped up to Lisa's grave and stooped down again. Absentmindedly, he brushed away more of the dead flowers and rearranged the ones that still had some life in them. He couldn't look at Marilyn when he spoke.

"Ed Baxter told me that you talked to him after the press conference when he announced that we'd made an arrest. You asked if I was still alive. I was, but barely. After my wife told me what had happened and why, my heart gave out on me. I had a cardiac arrest and nearly died. Everyone including myself at the time thought I wouldn't survive. I didn't want my daughter to grow up with a mother she hates because she cheated on her father. And I wanted to make sure her mother would be able to provide for her once I was gone."

Hardy felt her steady gaze on his back. It unnerved him, but he'd already chosen to share so there wasn't any point in stopping now. He seized a handful of the musty soil. When he rose slowly, he opened his fist, letting the bits and pieces of damp earth trickle between his long fingers. Looking Marilyn straight in the eye, he confessed,

"It was a shit plan and it backfired when I didn't die."

" _When you didn't die_?" she cried out. "Good Lord, Hardy, are you listening to yourself?"

He took in a deep breath to answer, but then let out the air with a sigh instead.

"Right," he pressed through his lips. Meekly, he tried to explain what now seemed utterly naïve even to him.

"I never thought the affair would become public. The incident with the pendant, yes. But not _how_ it disappeared. My daughter didn't talk to me for almost a year. I've only had more contact with her these past weeks."

He dusted off the last remains of soil on his palms.

"Does she know the truth?" Marilyn wondered.

Hardy shook his head. He'd been contemplating giving Daisy the letter over the weekend but had decidedly lacked the courage to do so.

Marilyn hummed pensively. "Is her mother going to tell her?"

Hardy's piercing glare was enough of an answer for her.

"I see. What about you?"

Hardy's shoulders sagged under the weight of the confession that was looming over him.

"I can't," he groaned.

"Horseshit!" she admonished him. "Pull yourself together. You're a grown man for crying out loud. You have to speak with her before she finds out from someone else."

"That's what Miller said too," he whined.

"Whoever that person is, he has common sense. You should listen to him," Marilyn ordered sternly.

"Her," Hardy corrected automatically. "Miller is a woman. She helped me solve the case."

"Did she?" Her curiosity was apparent.

His face brightening up, Hardy said, "Yup. Couldn't have done it without her."

Marilyn had sidled up next to him and to his surprise cupped his cheek with her palm. "I've never seen you smile before." Their eyes met. "It suits you. You should do it more often."

Her hand dropped down, leaving him longing for human touch. Then she moved away from him, drawn to her daughter's grave.

"You know, you were the only one who ever really paid attention to Lisa. Not even the press did. It was always about Pippa." Her voice broke and slowly tears began to drip down her face. "The bastard smashed her head in and he would have gotten away with it if you hadn't–" A sob choked off the rest of her words.

Hardy took one long step towards her and pulled her against his chest, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She buried her face in his shirt, soaking it through with the hot sorrow she'd been holding in for so long. Hardy's eyes were stinging, but he held back, standing tall for the two of them.

It took a long time for her violent sobs to calm down and eventually subside. Carefully, he unfolded his arms, holding on to her shoulders.

"Better?"

Nodding, she wiped her puffy eyes and wet cheeks. She cleared her throat and muttered, "Sorry about your shirt." Her hand came up to the spot where her tears and snot had left their mark. Shyly, she placed her palm on the damp cloth, right over his racing heart. She looked up.

"We can all rest now."

Hardy closed his eyes. For a moment he was back in that room in the Broadchurch nick when his emotions had overwhelmed him, breaking down the last of his barriers and leaving him weeping like a child. It became harder to breathe, his heartbeat drowning out everything around him until it was filling his mind. It tugged him under and away with it until a sudden jolt pulled him out of the river and back to the now.

Hardy forced his eyelids open, blinking into the bright blue sky. When he fisted his numb hand, his fingers raked through the pebbles of the gravel path. He must have fallen. Marilyn's scowling face swam into focus. She brushed his hair out of his sweaty face.

"You tried to die on me," she stated drily. "Again."

She was shaking her hand. "That was a nice zap. My fingers are all tingly," she groused.

He rolled over and grunted, "'M sorry."

Marilyn raised an eyebrow, but didn't hesitate to help him up. They stood by the grave, looking down on it. She wistfully eyed the flowers that Hardy had brought.

"She would have liked them." There was peace in her voice and Hardy found consolation in it. Minutes passed. She broke the silence first.

"You know, I'm glad your shit plan backfired and you didn't die."

Hardy huffed. "Should have had a plan B."

Marilyn chuckled. "Typical men... You lads never have a plan B."

Hardy shot her a sideways glance. The amused grin on her face took years off her features. When he rolled his eyes at her, she hooked her arm under his.

"You look like you could use a cuppa," she observed with the tone of a practiced mother who wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Yeah, tea might be nice," he acknowledged quietly and let her lead him away from the place where he hoped he finally had been able to lay his sorrows to rest.

* * *

 **A/N:** I have had the scene with Marilyn and Hardy at Lisa's grave in my head for ages. For those of you who haven't read "A Million Holes" – I had introduced Lisa's mother early on as I felt she was oddly missing from the show. Maybe it was to underscore the fact that everyone was so focused on Pippa, forgetting all about Lisa. Hardy and Marilyn shared a connection right from the start and I couldn't wait for her to meet him again after he'd found her daughter. I have to confess – there are pieces of the story missing which I've been working on though. It's the time around Lee Ashworth's original trial and what happened then. It'll be part of "A Million Holes 3" for those who are interested.

And I hope you forgive me my indulgence with the greenhouse scene. As soon as I realized that Hardy needed to get the flowers somewhere it popped up in my crazy brain, and I just couldn't get eerie Violet and her morbid dreams out of my head until I wrote it.


	12. Chapter 11 - Pieces

**A/N:** It's been a while since I've updated but as you might know, I've been keeping myself busy otherwise. This chapter took me a bit by surprise… Thank you to KTROSE and THEDELIRIUMTENNANTS for fixing my errors again. (see more notes at the end)

* * *

 **Chapter 11 – Pieces**

Hardy stood in the middle of the empty room, his two small bags sitting next to him on the worn wooden floor. The late afternoon sunlight flooded the small space and his tall figure cast a long shadow. He prodded the collection of his meager possessions with his foot. There was a storage unit somewhere in Sandbrook that held a few more things, but even that was mostly empty.

Looking around, it dawned on Hardy that his plan of moving into his new flat had a fatal flaw. He had no furniture – no chair to sit on, no bed to sleep in. Rubbing the back of his head, he sighed deeply. He couldn't remember the last time he had to deal with setting up a home. That's what he'd had Tess for. In a different lifetime.

He lowered his lanky body onto the floor, pulled up his knees to his chest, and hugged them tightly. Maybe he should have looked for a furnished flat, but he was getting tired of living a borrowed life. A place to call his own needed more than solely the few things he'd carried around in his nomad existence over the past two years.

The sound of his mobile clattering onto the wood startled him. He snatched it up, and without giving it much thought he typed a message.

 **Where would you go to get furniture?**

Miller's reply didn't take long: **ikea**

Hardy frowned at the acronym, trying to figure out what on earth it stood for. _Bloody texting._

Eyebrows raised and holding the phone at arm's length, he replied with a disgruntled question: **What's that supposed to mean? Can't you use real words?**

This looked like it was going to be a longer conversation. He fished out his glasses and got up. His feet took him in a slow circle around his bags, waiting for her next move. A buzz announced the incoming text and he stopped his restless roaming.

Perched on the windowsill, the sun warming his back, he read her reply: **I have no idea what it stands for. Google it if you need to know. It's probably a bloody town in Sweden.**

It didn't take him much imagination to picture her exasperation with him. Hardy's brows puckered into a frown. Her answer made even less sense.

Confused he typed: **Sweden? What does Sweden have to do with it?**

 **You're kidding, right?**

A memory of Miller's incredulous expression flashed through his mind. His eye-rolling was almost like a reflex, reliving a moment they had experienced countless times. He grew more and more suspicious that he was missing a crucial point in their conversation.

With an indignant scowl on his face he wrote back: **No. I'm not.**

Mere seconds later his mobile rang. Readying himself for the bollocking, he picked up with a sigh.

"Hardy, you're not serious are you?"

Amusement laced her voice and provoked instant annoyance in Hardy, as predictable as a knee jerk.

"I'm bloody well serious. I have no bloody idea what you're talking about. What would Sweden have to do with furniture?"

Ellie sputtered into the phone, unable to hold back her laughter. "Don't tell me you've never heard of IKEA?"

Pouting, Hardy tugged on his ear. "Oh, for fuck's sake Miller, I don't know all these stupid texting –"

She interrupted him, stifling a chortle. "Hardy, IKEA is the largest furniture company in the world. They are Swedish and make meatballs."

Hardy banged the back of his head gently against the window he'd been leaning on. He wouldn't mind if an abyss was to open up in front of him to swallow him. A barely audible groan escaped his throat and his face burned with his embarrassment. Of course he'd heard of IKEA, but he'd never been to one and his addled brain didn't make the connection.

 _Moron_ , he chastised himself.

"Where are you right now?" Miller's casual tone reminded him of her questioning suspects.

A sudden bout of homesickness fluttered through him. _God_ , how he missed being a proper detective.

"My new flat," Hardy muttered sullenly, his eyes closed and his head resting on the warm glass.

"Let me guess. You don't have any furniture?"

"Yup," he sighed.

"Ah, another brilliant Hardy plan. Fully thought through and executed with precision."

"Millah!" he cried out indignantly which provoked more chuckling on her end.

"'S not funny," he grumbled into the phone, contemplating if he should hang up and end the torture.

She was enjoying herself too much though, and Hardy was secretly happy to play the victim.

"Oh, it totally is," she countered, her words slurred by laughter.

He growled as a response but let her have her go. He had to admit, he quite liked listening to her being so carefree.

"Where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"Oh, I dunno. The wood floor seems rather inviting." His sarcasm was scathing, fueled by embarrassment and self-loath.

"I think they do same day delivery," she informed him, her mocking tone replaced with something that Hardy couldn't pinpoint through the tiny speakers.

"They do?" he asked in disbelief.

"Hold on."

A tapping and then some clicking noises filtered through the speakers.

"There isn't one near Sandbrook. The closest is either Birmingham or Bristol. Do you have someone who could drive you?"

"No," he moaned.

She was silent on the other end. When she spoke again, regret rang in her words.

"I'm sorry, Hardy. I can't come there. I've got Fred and –"

"You don't have to do this, Miller," he cut her off roughly.

 _Alec Hardy, the charity case._ That's what it had come down to. Her well-meaning offer had stoked the frustration with his own sorry existence and left him with instantaneous bitterness.

"Oh, don't be a knob about it. You don't have many friends and you're sitting alone in your empty flat. You recently had surgery and are not supposed to exert yourself. You can't really afford to turn down help," she fleshed out his situation with way more pragmatism than he could ever have mustered.

He remained mute though, stewing in his own misery.

Miller sighed deeply and then asked, "So, where _are_ you going to sleep tonight?"

"Hotel, probably," he mumbled and dragged a hand over his face.

The idea of spending yet another night in a foreign bed tired him. He needed a home, not another temporary solution.

"Do you have someone you can stay with? Maybe Tess could –"

"Absolutely not," he interjected vehemently. "Not staying on the sofa in my own bloody house while she and Dave shag in what used to be my fucking bed!" he blurted out before he could even think about it.

"Right. Not the house," she acknowledged drily. "A friend then?" she suggested, trying to brush over the awkwardness of his outburst.

He could ask Baxter. Wouldn't be a first. His friend's guestroom had become a place of refuge more than once in these past years. He'd feel home enough.

"I have someone who might be willing to put up with me. I stayed with him after... after I came back from the hospital," he said.

When Miller's hum made him realize that 'coming back from the hospital' in his case was sadly vague, he added quietly, "After I found out about Tess."

"I see. Good. Call him when we get off. Don't be alone today," she ordered warmly, speaking to the fact that she genuinely seemed to cared.

Hardy's lips curled up. "Miller, that's my line."

"Not any more," she quipped.

Hardy rolled his eyes. She must have heard it through the phone.

"Stop rolling your eyes and ask your friend if he can take you furniture shopping. You'll need some moral support for going to IKEA."

"Miller, it's a furniture store. I don't need moral support."

She snorted "Ha. Talk to me again when you're there."

Hardy tugged on his reddening ear. She must think him an utter fool.

"I've gotta go, Hardy. Have to take Fred to the child minder and go to work. Got the late shift today."

She was still in Devon, directing traffic and handing out tickets. What a waste of talent that was. It pained Hardy to think of what had driven her to give up something she was so passionate about. He wouldn't have minded breaking another one of Joe Miller's ribs for doing that to her. Hardy had contacted Craig Murphy shortly after the verdict to keep tabs on Joe as much as he could. He was in Sheffield, doing way too well for Hardy's taste.

Taking in a deep breath, he focused on the only thing he could do at the time, helping Ellie Miller.

"Are you considering going back to the Broadchurch constabulary?" he inquired carefully.

There was dead silence on the other end.

"It's all right. You don't have to answer. Shouldn't have asked."

She remained mute.

"Miller, just think about it, would you?" he persisted, despite knowing that he probably shouldn't.

"I gotta go," she announced curtly.

Hardy sighed into the phone. She hung up before he could say goodbye properly. It bothered him how much at times she nowadays reminded him of himself. The echo of her laughter rang in his ears, arguing against his glum thoughts. Healing wasn't easy, he should know.

He dialed Baxter's number and readied himself for his friend's teasing. Two hours later, he was enjoying Louise's incredible food and quietly listening to the family banter. Emma had joined them, excited to see Hardy again. There had been lots of hugging, and for the first time since returning to Sandbrook, a feeling of coming home settled in.

Miller had been right. It was good not to be alone.

* * *

Two days after her last call with Hardy, Ellie was handing out a speeding ticket to the driver of a silver sports car who'd mistaken the windy roads of Devon for a race track. She did not derive any pleasure from it. The drizzle matted her curls onto her head and crept into every crevice of her uniform, adding to her misery.

Hardy's words had stuck with her. She shouldn't have hung up on him, but talking about her current career choices was too uncomfortable.

She shook off the water and climbed back into the police car. Her partner had stopped trying to cheer her up with mediocre jokes, resigned to her sullen attitude. Ellie was giving Hardy's grumpy demeanor a run for the money. At the moment, she was winning the race. It was a sad victory.

Her mobile pinged. A message from an unknown number together with a picture came through. Ellie opened it and burst out with laughter, making her partner nearly lose control over the car.

The text read: **This is Ed Baxter. I stole your number from Hardy's phone. Your assumption was correct – he does need moral support :)**

The image showed Hardy blankly staring at the vast display of furniture, interspersed with crowds of unnerved adults and screaming children. His wide eyes spoke of sensory overload and utter horror at the prospect of facing the mayhem of a weekend shopping spree at an IKEA store. His arms dangled down along his lanky figure, fists tightly wound around the telltale minuscule pencil and note paper that every IKEA customer was familiar with.

Ellie's partner shot her a surprised glance but didn't ask what had her in pieces. Ellie contemplated what to reply. A grin stole over her face. She hit the forward button for the image and typed a message to Hardy:

 **Enjoying yourself?**

It didn't take too long for him to answer: **I'm going to murder Baxter. And no. I'm not.**

 **Tell him I would pay money for a picture of you building a bloody Billy shelf.**

 **What's a Billy shelf?**

His frowning face was embedded in his words, entertaining Ellie more than she'd been in a long time.

 **You'll see,** she wrote back, well aware that it would rile him up more.

 **Stop wittering, Miller.**

 **You're cranky. Go have meatballs. And before you can say anything – I know they're not rabbit food.**

All she got as a reply was another **';p'**.

With a smile, she put her phone away and let her gaze drift over the dreary countryside. The green of the rolling hills seemed more vibrant than it had, and she didn't mind the grey sky as much as she had earlier. Hardy was serious about starting over, maybe so should she.

* * *

A day after his trip to furniture hell and back, Hardy kneeled among the scattered pieces of a Billy shelf. He squinted at the instructions which didn't make any sense to him. Baxter had offered his help which Hardy had declined. The world didn't need more compromising pictures of him, and certainly not in either Miller's or Baxter's treacherous hands.

He snatched up the paper, trying to identify what to do next. Cursing wholeheartedly, he was ready to throw the bloody Allen wrench across the room. The buzzer of his mobile prevented him from finding relief for the pent up frustration.

As expected, it was a text from Miller: **How's the shelf coming along?**

The Allen wrench hit the wall.

His chest heaved with his aggravated breaths when he hit the call button.

"What do you think?" he barked into the phone as soon as she picked up.

"That bad, ey?" she chuckled.

"Don't ask. It's a bloody nightmare," he growled in response.

Her clear laughter drove away his anger. "Is your friend with you?"

"No, Miller. No paparazzi this time."

"Shame," she retorted. When she continued, her teasing tone had changed. "Are you even supposed to be doing things like this by yourself?" Concern trickled through the line.

The six weeks after his surgery that he wasn't supposed to do any heavy lifting with his left arm had just passed, but that probably didn't mean he should engage in putting up furniture.

"Maybe not," he mumbled embarrassedly. She'd caught him in the act.

"You're impossible. After all you went through, I can't believe you're being stupid about this." She paused and then added, "Scratch that. Actually I can. It's the typical wanker horseshit you would pull."

Hardy's shoulders drooped. "It's only that one shelf. Everything else is done. Ed made sure I didn't do it alone," he defended himself.

"At least he is a sensible man," Miller commented. "How come he puts up with you? Do you know any dirty secrets about him?"

"He used to be my CS at South Mercia," was all he offered, hurt by her implication that Baxter couldn't simply be a friend.

"Why can I not picture being your former boss as a true motivation to go to IKEA with you?" Miller asked sarcastically.

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe he wanted to make sure I'm off the street; so that I don't mooch off of him any more?" Hardy scoffed.

"Hardy, don't be an arse. I asked you a simple question."

"No, you didn't," he argued petulantly. "You can't think it possible that I actually might have a friend who cares enough to help me out voluntarily."

Miller's breathing crackled through the line while Hardy was losing his patience. It was wearing him out to have to prove constantly that there were people from his past who might – god-forbid – like his sorry arse.

"I gotta go, Miller," he eventually said. "Finish the bloody shelf."

He was about to hang up, when she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Hardy. I didn't mean to imply –"

"But you did," he cut her off, ending her apology before she could get going.

"It's just…," she hesitated, "It's just I don't know anything about your life before you came to Broadchurch whereas you know everything about me."

Hardy stood and walked over to where he'd hurled the Allen wrench. He stooped down and scooped it up. Miller's life had been presented to him all torn apart in pieces, very much like the stupid shelf in front of him. However, that didn't mean he had a clue how to put it together, not even with instructions. He twirled the small wrench in his long fingers.

"Ellie, you're wrong," he said softly.

A myriad of tiny details from Tess' life tumbled through his mind, the little things one started to know about the other half after being their best friend forever. He missed that sort of intimacy.

This conversation was treading on uncharted territory and Hardy was unsure where it was going to take him. Regardless, he went on, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

"I don't know everything about you. I don't know what you did on your eighteenth birthday. I don't know who you snogged for the first time or when you got drunk for the first time. I don't know who your favorite band is or what the first concert was you went to. I don't know why you went to the academy. I don't know why you stayed in Broadchurch all those years. I don't know what makes you happy, only about what makes you cry. There are many things that I don't know, and I'm not at some odd advantage because I witnessed the horror of your life falling apart over the last year."

He paused briefly and sucked in some air, then he decided to do something he hadn't done in years. Before he could lose his courage or she could budge in with another snide remark, he began to _share_.

"Ed Baxter is one of my best friends. He made me DI when I had come to Sandbrook after needing to leave Glasgow because of an incident that happened there during a drug bust. We became friends over the years after I helped him out one night when he thought his child was dying. After the pendant was taken…" – he swallowed, having a hard time talking about those days – "… He found me after Tess told me what happened. If it hadn't been for him, I probably wouldn't be standing here today," Hardy concluded his confession.

Miller still didn't say a word, and Hardy was worried he'd pushed her too far. Sharing wasn't necessarily a one-way street, and he wondered if she was prepared for it. After all, she'd been safe from walking down that path, thanks to Hardy's closed off self. Rubbing his tongue over his teeth, he contemplated revealing one more detail with the hope to draw her out.

"Baxter also helped me to get your job," he added, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

It worked.

"You wanker! Both of you. You two little shits conspired to take away the position that was rightfully mine. Unbelievable!" she yelled into the phone.

The corner of his lips curled up. Maybe one day she'd stop being sore over the job, not today though.

"I could try and make amends," he suggested hesitantly.

"What do you mean?" Suspicion laced her words.

"I could have him talk to Jenkinson about you, to take you back. They know each other," he offered, taking the risk of her blowing up in his face.

"Don't you dare! I don't need anyone pulling strings for me. And besides, I'm back as DS in Devon. I'm starting Monday," she added triumphantly.

Hardy's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected that. A broad smile brightened up his face, crinkles bursting from the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, that's great. Congratulations." He hoped his voice would convey his enthusiasm more than his meek words.

He was happy for her, but it didn't sit right with him that she was still not welcomed in the place that used to be her second home.

"Thanks, Hardy. I tried out something new."

Puzzled, he asked, "And what would that be?"

"I listened to what you said," she replied smugly.

Hardy sniggered. "I thought I would never live to see the day."

"Seriously? You're the last person who should use any language containing figures of speech relating to death or dying," she lectured him.

He grunted in response. She had a point though, he couldn't deny it. He wasn't prepared for her next question.

"How about you? Any plans for work?"

"No," he squeaked. He cleared his throat. "I haven't seen the CMO yet. My cardiologist doesn't think I'm ready for it," he informed her curtly.

"Are you going back to teaching?

He kicked a screw and sent it scattering over the floor. He'd not go back to that. He'd rather rot in this flat. The image of his shaggy-haired, full-bearded self cowering in a corner and bored into oblivion called for a certain response to her question.

"Over my dead body, Miller."

A smirk played over his face when she groaned, "You said that on purpose."

"Possibly," he allowed while he hunted down the screw on all fours.

Where had the damn thing gone? Hopefully they'd packed a few extra ones. At this speed he'd never finish the bloody shelf.

"Can't you ask your fr-"

"No. Not this time," Hardy cut her off and stood up, dusting off his knee caps. "Ed's stuck out his neck more than once for me. I can't drag him into it again."

Hardy toed the heap with the remaining screws. They rolled away, disappearing under the sofa out of his reach. Hardy cursed inwardly.

"Besides, someone else got my job," he huffed irritatedly.

He lowered himself onto his stomach and peered under sofa. Of course the screws had rolled all the way back to the wall. His long arm stretched toward them, not quite making it.

 _Bollocks._ His irritation grew.

"Ha. So you do know how that feels," Miller egged him on.

"There is nothing funny about it," he pressed through gritted teeth while giving the screw rescue mission one last try. "Irvine got my job while I was still with South Mercia, right after the case was closed. We were co-DIs for a while until I…" – he hesitated not wanting to get into the sorry story of his rushed departure from Sandbrook – "… until I had no choice but to leave."

His fingertips finally made contact with the screws and he tugged them out from under the sofa.

Rolling over onto his back, he blew out some of the dusty air through his nostrils. Then he clued Miller in on one other piece of the puzzle.

"She's responsible for Tess coming back to CID after I was gone."

"Oh," Miller breathed into the phone.

As always, curiosity won the better of Miller and she wittered on. "How did that go for you? Working as co-DIs, I mean."

"Poorly," he moaned and clambered to his feet. He was done with this.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he growled.

He really didn't. He had no inclination to share the details of Irvine's pathetic witch hunt against him. It was in the past, and he was trying to move on.

"Right."

Hardy sighed. It seemed inevitable that they would end up at a point in their conversation when both felt the urge to avoid touching upon old wounds. Nobody spoke, but neither one of them made any move to hang up. He listlessly sorted through the pieces of the wretched Billy shelf and used the little pegs for the boards to measure the time it took for Miller to break their silence. He'd made a pile of seventeen, when she gave in.

"Hardy, do you really think we'll be all right?"

Her soft words catapulted him back to a late night in CID when she'd asked him if he thought they'd solve the case. His fingers hovered over a peg and he looked up as if he could meet her eyes.

"We will, Miller," he reassured, just like he had back then.

"You weren't after Sandbrook," she questioned his statement.

He inhaled deeply, talking while letting the air out. "No. Sandbrook was different and you know why. But what counts is that I'm better now, right?"

"Are you?"

There was a desperate tone in her voice that reminded him of how broken her life was and how much she needed to see that there was a way out. A ragged breath gave away that she was crying. Hardy rubbed his fingers over his eyelids. His body ached to comfort her with a hug, but she was miles away. Again, his only option was to resort to using words, something he had never been good at.

"Yes, Ellie. I am," he stated as firmly as his own lingering doubt allowed him to. "And you will be too. You trust me, don't you?"

She hummed an agreement in-between her sobs.

"You know I wouldn't lie to you. Not with this," he added quickly, considering how often he'd kept the truth from her.

Another noise of agreement found its way through the ether, and he was grateful for it.

"You know why I am certain that you will be all right?" He didn't give her the opportunity to answer his rhetorical question, out of fear he'd lose the courage to say the next words. "You are one of the strongest persons I've met. What you've been through was horrific and many would have given up. You didn't. You stubbornly kept going. You took care of your children, you held down your job, you took back your home, and stood up to the bastard that did all of this to you. And all of this without anyone helping you. You're –"

"Not true," she interrupted him quietly, "I did have someone who helped. _You_ did."

It took the wind out of his sail. He sank down onto the floor, heedless of boards, pegs, and other colorfully named shelf pieces.

"Thank you, Alec," she whispered.

He passed a trembling hand over his face, trying to wipe away the memory of another whispered female voice uttering his name in the dark deep night on the cliffs. He swallowed hard and made every effort not to tell Miller off about using his given name that had been taken from him all those decades ago.

"Don't mention it," he managed eventually, a slight quiver roughening up his Scottish accent.

"Quite right," she muttered.

A few heartbeats passed. Then she took in a deep breath and added in a much lighter tone, "Look at us. Mulder and Scully."

"Let me guess. I'm Mulder," Hardy growled, wondering what secret strength she was drawing from to fearlessly attempt to change the mood.

"What? No. You're the grumpy one. You're Scully."

"Seriously? Miller, you don't get to be Mulder. Not until you learn how to do some solid brooding on the cliffs and get a proper coat instead of that orange crime against humanity. Besides, you have to fully subscribe to 'Trust no one'."

"I've certainly learned my lesson from the master in that respect," she scoffed.

"'M sorry. I didn't mean to…," he trailed off, hating himself for having ruined her efforts.

"It's fine, Hardy. You were right all along."

"Told you I was Mulder," he quipped.

Miller laughed, and a small victory smile played over Hardy's face.

"Yeah. I'll buy you a plush alien next time we meet." She sniggered.

"Don't think I won't remember." His grin grew wider. "You still owe me a T-shirt."

Miller huffed. "Smart arse."

A loud crash in the background interrupted their banter.

"Shit," Miller cursed and then yelled, "Fred! Get off the bloody washing machine!"

"I bet you twenty quid he'll use his first swear word before he turns two," Hardy commented, remembering the day when his little pink three-year-old princess happily told her preschool teacher that the latest Peppa Pig episode had been bloody shit. Fred was facing the same fate.

"Oh, shut up. His birthday is in a month; he barely can put two coherent words together," Miller told him off.

"Fred! What did you do?" Miller exclaimed when she must have encountered the havoc her little wildling had wreaked.

"Want phone. Wanna talk to Tom." Fred shrieked into the microphone, and Hardy had to move the handset away from his ear.

"Fred, let go. It's not Tom. It's Uncle Alec."

Hardy rolled his eyes. When he heard what Fred excitedly crowed next, he burst out in laughter and Miller nearly choked.

"Knob! Wanna talk to Knob!"

"Miller, you owe me not only a T-shirt, a plush alien, but also twenty quid," Hardy stated as drily as he could, considering the circumstances.

"Go to hell, Hardy."

Hardy snorted. "Done that. Took you with me on my way back."

"Oh, wow. Look at you being all witty."

Another deafening crash rang in his ears and saved him from the need to prove his non-existent wit.

"Miller, you should go before wee Fred sets your house on fire."

"Quite right," she moaned.

Nobody made any attempt at saying goodbye.

Eventually, Hardy found his words. "Good luck with the job then."

"Good luck with the shelf. Bye Hardy," she uttered and hung up quickly.

Hardy held on to the phone that had become hot on his ear. The lingering warmth faded away, taking with it Miller's bickering and teasing. When he picked it up hours later after he'd finally finished the bloody shelf, it was long gone.

He was alone again.

* * *

 **A/N:** A/N: Weeks ago in a long night at work I was thinking about Hardy sitting alone in his new flat and what he would do faced with the emptiness… an endless number of little chat posts to KTRose later the skeleton for the IKEA scene was born and KTRose woke up to a million and one notifications. Not even knowing how popular IKEA really is in the UK (turns out that a careful estimate states that every other child in the UK is being conceived on an IKEA mattress) and where the closest IKEA to Sandbrook would be (pinpointing an IKEA location near an imaginary town somewhere in the UK was a wild goose chase to say the least and reminded me yet again of Chibnall's geographic wibbly-wobbliness) presented their own interesting challenges. Thank you KTRose for entertaining my dorky nerdiness. What I was left with was a decently long scene which seemed rather comical for the two lovable idiots which I planned to put within another chapter.

And then I started revising it – and those two just didn't wanna shut up. And in the end I found myself gasping at the shippiness of the final product and wondering where that had come from. Alas, I liked where they had taken me. And if anyone wants to complain that this doesn't fit, they are OOC or too silly… duly noted. I still like what I did with it and I regret nothing (and if anyone wants to do some fan art on the picture that Ed took, I'd be squealing). Hope you enjoyed it, because I sure did.

Oh one last thing - in case you're not reading "A Million Holes" - Rebecca Irvine became DI at Sandbrook after the case happened... her and Hardy's difficult relationship is chronicled in MHPS 3 - in case you're interested.


	13. Chapter 12 - Statements

**A/N:** I'm not even going to make excuses. It's been ages. And if there are still people who remember the story, here is the next installment. Chapter 13 will follow shortly because I wrote it as one but it got too long. Thank you to all those who have been encouraging and are still reading. I know this is not what you want – most were asking for Compass which is also in the works. The new series is 1 (!) week away and we are all excited! Just a brief reminder as this chapter has references to 'A Million Holes' – we meet some of the OCs I mentioned in Part 3. Hope it's not too confusing.

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – Statements**

The pale-yellow rays of the sun tickled Hardy awake. He squinted at his alarm clock and pulled the pillow over his head. It was too late to continue sleeping but too early to get up.

When it had happened the first time, Hardy had been annoyed and explored his options for curtains or blinds. Then he realized he'd been risen by light and not by the darkness of the river water he used to drown in every sleeping moment. He'd abandoned any plans to block out the early morning sun, welcoming it as a treat at the end of those mercifully dreamless nights where peace had found him instead of terror.

His drowsy mind picked up where it had left off before he'd fallen asleep serenely. He ruminated on how he equally loathed and loved the prospect of what lay ahead.

Daisy had asked him if he was up for a movie night, and today was the day. They hadn't seen each other since they had come back from Duncan's house and Hardy had moved into his flat. They had only talked on the phone. Hardy had lost his ability to formulate a coherent response when she'd suggested it which had earned him a bollocking from his daughter and an order to stop being daft.

His flat was as ready as it could be, clean and orderly. He'd taken care of snacks, hoping she'd still like the same things she used to. She had told him no need to worry about dinner for her and that she'd bring the movie. He had omitted he didn't even have a TV or the proper equipment for whatever the latest media format was these days. A trip to the closest electronic chain store together with Baxter's daughter Emma had remedied the obstacle. Baxter had wanted to come along, but after the recent IKEA trip, Hardy wasn't going to take the traitor.

Hardy rolled over, groaning into the pillow. He wanted nothing more than give in to the blissfully anxious anticipation of spending time with his daughter. Unfortunately, Daisy had picked the day Hardy had to return to the South Mercia Constabulary to give his testimonies for the case and deal with a mountain of paperwork. He hadn't set foot anywhere near the place since his hasty departure over a year ago. The mere thought of having to wait for that bloody elevator which not once in its existence had come swiftly was driving sweat onto his forehead and sent his heart racing.

He had no idea how much of the truth had trickled out already. According to Baxter, the station had been a zest pool of rumors ever since he and Miller had closed the case. When the news had hit that there had been an arrest for the murder of the girls, CID and the rest of the station was buzzing like a bee hive. When Tess had exhumed Lisa Newbery's body, people had cheered. When they'd learned it had been three suspects who were charged in conjunction with the murders, people were floored. And when they realized _who_ had solved the case which had haunted every member of the division for the past two years, the place had exploded. The dust hadn't settled since, and Hardy's appearance would only stir things up more.

There was no choice though. Hardy wasn't going to risk any violations of procedural standards. Not this time. Bad enough that he'd run a sting operation out of his backyard, and Miller hadn't even been a CID member at the time. At least he had still been attached to the Broadchurch Constabulary, albeit not on active duty. His arrests of Claire and Lee had been lawful, and he'd made sure to follow all the rules. Lee and Ricky had confessed with legal counsel present, and there was no one on this earth who'd be able to argue those confessions had been coerced. The murderers would go to prison.

His worry was Claire. She'd changed her story so many times, one more occasion wouldn't make a difference. Baxter had grilled Hardy more than once if there was any truth to Claire's allegations of imprisonment and sexual assault. Over and over again, Hardy had put his hurt feelings aside and denied all of it. It was wearing him down that his friend would even consider he'd ever be violent toward a woman, but Baxter was right to be persistent. It was the most vulnerable part of the chain of events, and a clever defense barrister could easily exploit Hardy's do-it-yourself witness protection scheme.

His alarm went off, and Hardy dragged himself out of bed. He padded over to his bathroom and slipped off his pajama bottoms. It was refreshing to be finally able to remove his T-shirt like a normal human being after the pacemaker had healed in properly. The hot shower steamed up the small room quickly, coating the wall tiles with tiny droplets. It would have been perfect to shave while soaking under the scalding stream. He contemplated briefly to do away with his beard, eyeing it from all angles in the foggy mirror.

It wasn't as unruly as a few weeks ago. Duncan had made him go to a barber shop, getting a proper grooming for any hair daring to grow out from anywhere above Hardy's shoulders. The mop on his head was still shaggy and falling into his face but with some shape and form to it. He'd refused to get rid of his scruff. After a fierce argument between Hardy and Duncan, the hairdresser suggested a trim as a peace treaty. An agreement had been reached, and Hardy had walked out of the place looking more dapper than he had in years.

He passed a hand over the stubbles. He'd be damned to admit it, but he'd grown fond of the beard. It was here to stay, bearing witness to the man he'd become. His lips curled up. Daisy had begrudgingly approved once she'd seen the result of Duncan's makeover efforts.

Miller had demanded a selfie after she'd found out about it.

The request left Hardy flummoxed as to why Miller was so interested in his facial hair. She claimed it was for wee Fred, but somehow Hardy doubted it. It took him three days to work up his courage. He was rewarded with a sniggering remark about needing a plaid flannel shirt to complete the lumberjack look. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered with her.

The corners of his eyes budded into crinkles and a smile stole over his lips. He rubbed his thumb over the condensation on the glass, tracing his head, eyes, nose, mouth, and the beard. A day after Miller had messaged him, she had sent him a photograph of a drawing Fred had made. It showed the outline of a man's face with a stubbly beard and the upper body with a checkered shirt. It was titled 'Uncle Alec, the lumberjack' and it reminded Hardy why he did bother with her after all.

His eyes lingered on the sketch of his features which was slowly smudged by water drops running down the steamed-up glass. He grinned, and with one decisive wipe of his palm the outline was gone. Time to stop staring at reflections and deal with the world out there.

* * *

An hour later, he walked into South Mercia Constabulary, donned in a pristinely pressed suit, hair slicked back, and head held high. Eyes followed his every move, and a trail of whispers accompanied his path from the entrance to his destination. He endured the wait at the elevator, nodding a curt greeting to those who dared looking at him.

He ignored the nagging fear he'd bump into Tess. She was off for the day. She wasn't the only one he could have done without meeting, but it was a relief knowing she wouldn't be around. A ping announced the elevator, and Hardy hurried into the temporary sanctuary it had to offer. Leaning against the wall, he studied the familiar ceiling panels. It seemed to move faster than what he remembered, spitting him out on the CID floor in no time.

Stepping out of the elevator, he tightened his tie and tugged aimlessly on his suit jacket. Last time he'd been here, they had all but run him out of the building, and he'd left with his tail between his legs. It wasn't a triumphant return, but a vague sense of fulfilment made him straighten his shoulders. He braced himself for the dead silence his entry surely was to provoke before he opened those doors to what used to be his second home.

Familiar noises engulfed him as soon as he had set foot into the large room. He'd missed it without even knowing. To his surprise, not all heads turned immediately. The chatter died down gradually while he loitered near the door, uncertain where to go.

Baxter's office was now occupied by a new CS after he'd been promoted. Hardy's gaze wandered automatically to where Tess used to sit. A new face stared back at him, someone who hadn't been part of his team.

"DI Hardy!"

A happy voice greeted him and shook him out his frozen state. It belonged to a bouncy Annie Swenson who was approaching him quickly. He suspected a hug was going to be part of her enthusiastic welcome, and before he could move to avoid it, her arms were already wrapped around his stiff torso.

"DC Swenson," he mumbled into her shoulder.

She loosened her grip and grinned at him. "It's _DS_ Swenson now," she corrected him proudly.

A smile flicked over his face. He wouldn't have expected less from her.

By now, everyone was watching them intently, and Hardy's ears were burning. He could have done without all the attention.

"Erm… I came to give my statements." His gaze darted around. "About the arrests," he added, his Scottish accent swelling by the second.

Swenson's eyes were full of all the questions she had, but she remained quiet.

"I would take them but as I was on the original case, I was instructed not to be part in any of it now," she explained, a hint of disappointment echoing through her words.

Hardy frowned. "It's not going to be Irvine?" he asked before biting his tongue.

"Don't worry, Hardy. I wouldn't go anywhere near that case," a smug voice chimed in from behind.

 _Fuck._ Hardy squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself internally. This was not the time and place to rekindle old animosity. Especially not with Rebecca Irvine who had taken his place and paved the way for Tess' return to CID. Hardy glanced at her, already tired of the day before it had even begun.

"Is that why Tess refused to reopen the case?" he growled, unable to hold back deep seated anger and frustration.

Irvine scoffed. "Your wife was smart enough to not get dragged into your fuck-ups again and ruin her career any further."

Hardy moved closer toward her, staring her down. " _Ex_ -wife," he hissed.

"Oh, yes. I forgot. She left you, didn't she?" Irvine remarked with an ugly smirk.

His heart skipped a beat or two, promptly followed by a nudge of the ICD. He dug his fingers into the cloth of his trousers and inhaled sharply.

Swenson snagged his elbow. "I'll take you to the assigned room," she urged and nudged him to move.

The tiny part in his brain responsible for self-preservation whipped the rest of his body into action, and he let Swenson lead him away from a battle he could only lose. She took him down the hall to the familiar interrogation suit.

"Are you all right, sir?" she inquired before opening the door to the room in which he'd nearly passed out when questioning Claire Ripley two years ago.

"'M fine," he assured her, rolling his eyes.

Swenson's clear laughter echoed through the hallway. "Some things never change, don't they?" she chuckled and brushed her hand down his arm. Her expression turned serious, when she asked, "Did you get it fixed?"

She pointed at her heart and didn't let him look away.

"Aye," he affirmed with a nod. She seemed doubtful. "Well, sorta," he conceded. "Working on it."

Smiling, she said, "I'll take that."

She moved to open the door, but he held her back. "Who is taking the statement?"

"DCI Woods. He volunteered."

The name didn't ring a bell which wasn't surprising. Hardy tried to shake off his growing anxiety. It was a simple statement of the proceedings and results of his and Miller's investigation. Under any other circumstance this wouldn't have been a big deal. If he only hadn't run a sting operation out of his living room. At best, his actions could be called unorthodox.

He took in a deep breath and entered the room. Swenson stayed behind, whispering good luck wishes while he passed by her.

"DI Hardy. A pleasure to see you again." DCI Woods stood and stuck out his hand.

Instant recognition took Hardy back to another hearing a lifetime ago. The man greeting him with a stern face was _"Bad-Cop"_ who had served on Hardy's disciplinary committee after the pendant had been lost, and Hardy had taken the blame for something he had no part in. Hardy returned the gesture, suspicious of why Woods had volunteered for this.

He ushered Hardy to a chair at the table where a clerk was positioned next to a tape recorder. Hardy's gaze flicked upward to see if the camera was running.

"No video," Woods announced while sitting down. "Just the tape."

Hardy's eyes moved up over Woods' shoulder to the one-way mirror. "What about that?" He motioned toward the dark glass.

Woods remained silent, confirming Hardy's hunch of being watched.

"Why do I feel this is more than a simple recording of my statement?" Hardy grumbled under his breath.

"There are a lot of people who are invested in getting this right this time around," Woods commented, an eyebrow raised.

"Right," Hardy sighed.

"Why don't we start with your description of the events leading up to Claire Ripley's arrest?" Woods prompted him.

Hardy leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He let out a big breath and then reluctantly began his tale. He left out his shameful departure from Sandbrook, touching only briefly upon Claire's plea for help. Woods didn't let him get away with it. A heated back and forth followed where Woods teased out every detail of Hardy's do-it-yourself witness protection operation.

"Did you keep receipts of taxi rides or anything to prove you usually left her alone in the cottage overnight?"

Hardy scrubbed down his scruff. "No. Not always."

"Phone records?"

"Aye. I've got those." Hardy leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "Is this necessary?"

"DI Hardy, Ms. Ripley made accusations of imprisonment and violence against her. Granted, she did not follow through with pursuing these allegations, but the more proof there is you were mostly _not_ in her company the better it will be," Woods explained the blatantly obvious.

"Fine. I will collect whatever I can find and submit it for evidence." Hardy accepted his fate with a sigh.

Woods pressed him further to elaborate what he'd been up to after being placed on medical leave. For once Hardy didn't curse the bloody teaching job as it at least accounted for his whereabouts. They finally reached the day of Joe Miller's plea hearing, the time when Ellie Miller entered the playing field.

Hardy wasn't sure if Miller had given her statement yet. Even if she had, he would have stayed away from it as far as possible. The risk of being discredited was high as it was. No need to add a suspicion of colluding in reporting on the investigation. Despite all of his concerns, he hoped Miller would have a clearer memory of her steps than he had. The weeks before the pacemaker surgery were all a blur, one meandering waking nightmare. One day had bled into the other while he'd been balancing on the verge of succumbing to not only his heart condition but also the pressure of the trial and covert investigation.

"And you not once suspected Claire Ripley to be in possession of the Pippa Gillespie's pendant?" Woods interrupted Hardy's monotone account of the events.

Hardy blinked, reliving the moment all blood froze in his veins only to come to a rolling boil a heartbeat later. He was certain the thud of that evidence bag against his ribcage would have brought him to his grave if it hadn't been for the pacemaker.

"No," he rasped.

"How do you explain the discrepancy between the report of all valuables having been removed from your ex-wife's car and Claire's claim she didn't take anything but the pendant?" Woods demanded.

Hardy's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"After her arrest, Claire Ripley stated during questioning she took possession of the pendant and nothing else in the car. When-"

"Impossible," Hardy cut Woods off. "The case file clearly describes that all the valuables…" Hardy noted Woods' sad expression and trailed off. A sudden realization hit him like a brick wall. "Tess tampered with evidence," he muttered in utter disbelief.

The stale air in the room was stifling, and he tugged frantically at his tie. Woods paused the tape and handed him a glass of water.

"We can take a break if you need to," Woods offered. "You're recovering from surgery and a significant heart condition. I know how-"

"It's not a bloody condition. I'm fine," Hardy snarled. He took the water though, and after a moment of hesitation decided to take some of his pills.

Something else popped up in his mind. "Why, for god's sake, has no one ever told me that only the evidence was taken? Did no one think this information to be of significance?" Hardy shouted the last words of the sentence.

Woods placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing him gently into his chair. He bent down, closing in on Hardy.

"DI Hardy, if I were you I'd calm down. Quickly," he urged him quietly into his ear. "Remember the mirror," he whispered so only Hardy could hear it.

Hardy went limp and fell back onto his seat. Those fools. He was going to murder Baxter or whoever had hidden the fact that Tess and fucking Dave Thompson must have tampered with the break-in. He wanted to believe that if he had known the details he'd been able to put two and two together. Maybe Lee's trial would have gone a different way. On the other hand, they might have never found the truth as he'd been blind to Ricky's involvement. He pressed the heels of his hands against his orbits, rubbing away the fatigue which had come with rehashing the Sandbrook murders.

Woods took his place opposite Hardy again and resumed the taping. "Please, walk me through yours and PC Miller's steps of the investigation," he continued.

Hardy gave as detailed a record as he could. He talked about his initial plan of making Miller Claire's confidant after he had failed to get any information out of her. He described how they bit by bit uncovered holes in previous statements of all people involved, most significantly Cate breaking Ricky's alibi and Claire's ever-changing story. He gave Miller credit where she deserved it, including the final revelations which had led to Lee's and Ricky's confessions. Pride found its way into his words, and smile wiped away the scowl he'd been wearing.

"Is there any truth to the allegation of you and PC Miller having an affair during the Latimer case?"

"Bloody hell. Of course not," Hardy exclaimed. "She was married at the time, and quite truthfully we didn't get along at all."

"And yet, you asked her for help with something requiring an immense amount of trust," Woods countered.

Hardy opened his mouth to give a snarky reply, but then paused. He had, hadn't he? They both needed each other at the time. He'd recognized something in her he was very familiar with. She needed to be protected from the destructive forces around her. Hardy was well aware of her being more than capable of doing so herself. All she needed was a reminder and someone else's mess to dug her teeth into.

"Did you have a romantic relationship while you ran your private investigation?" Woods wanted to know.

"No," Hardy denied vehemently.

"Did she ever stay at your house?"

His cheeks heated up. "What do you mean by stay at my house?" It was a feeble attempt at buying himself time.

"Did she ever spend any prolonged time in your house, daytime or overnight?" Woods clarified.

Hardy cleared his throat. "We met to discuss the case. She was going through my files."

"What about overnight?" Woods wasn't letting go.

"Once. But I wasn't even there," he added hastily when he noted Woods' expression. "She was working her way through my collected evidence. I had gone out to…" Hardy hesitated, weighing what was worse – the fact that Miller had spent the night at his shack while her toddler son had been sleeping in his bed or that he'd engaged the CPS barrister to do his will for him.

"Go on."

"I had gone out to get my will done. It was right before the surgery and I was worried about…" – another pause – "… the outcome," he concluded.

Woods tilted his head. The same emotion which Hardy had noted during his disciplinary hearing played over Woods' face.

"Is it true she drove you to Sandbrook and you stayed in the same hotel?"

Hardy nearly choked. And he had only been worried about Joe Miller's legal team when they had shared the room. "Yes," he croaked. "I am not allowed to drive for medical reasons. Miller offered…" – _Liar_ , he scolded himself – "… to drive. We stayed in the same hotel." Hardy put twenty years of police training into keeping his face neutral.

"Do you have a romantic relationship with her now?"

Twenty years of training couldn't save him from blushing profoundly. "No. We are friends at best," he replied hastily.

Woods himself seemed in need for some refresher lessons about not reacting to your interviewee's statements. A smirk twisted his lips.

"Unless you want to add anything, I believe we might be done for the day, DI Hardy," Woods proclaimed after he'd gotten his composure back.

Hardy shook his head. He'd had enough.

Woods switched off the tape. "All right. Once the transcripts are ready for you to verify and sign, we'll notify you."

Everyone stood and Hardy dashed for the door. He was halfway down the hallway when Woods called him back.

"A word, DI Hardy, if you don't mind."

Hardy begrudgingly halted and turned around. They were alone.

"I used to work CID. Was a DI about to be promoted to DCI. Loved the work. I still miss it," Woods began slowly.

Hardy searched the older man's face in an attempt to figure out where this conversation was going.

"I was forty-three when I went to my GP for what I thought was a virus. I had had fevers on and off for weeks, felt fatigued, and had all this swollen lumps on my neck. A work colleague finally made me go when I coughed up my lungs after chasing down a suspect. Turns out it wasn't a virus but cancer. Non-Hodgkin lymphoma."

Woods locked eyes with Hardy. "I needed immediate chemotherapy but I refused until the case was done. Eventually I subjected myself to all the necessary treatments with acceptable results."

He made sure Hardy didn't look away. "My reluctance in seeking timely care might have ruined my chances of getting rid of it for good. It's still there, dormant, and I am receiving continued therapy. My oncologist is a dictator, and he has threatened me multiple times with kicking me out when he deemed my actions unreasonable."

Hardy remembered Woods' reaction when he had mentioned Emily's tactics during his hearing. Woods understood better than Hardy would have ever known. It made him wonder if MacMillan and Furbanks had picked Woods on purpose.

"He should meet my cardiologist. They would get along well," Hardy commented sarcastically.

Woods chuckled. "I recall you blaming her for bullying you into getting the procedure done. It still took you a while."

"Don't start," Hardy groused, rolling his eyes.

"Have you put any thought into what you want to do next? Now that your health might get better and things are clearing up?"

Hardy sighed. Another loaded question. "No."

Woods nodded knowingly. "Yeah. Not as simple as people may think. It took a while, but I was able to return to the force on active duty. Not to CID mind you, but I found a home somewhere else. Maybe you would consider my department. Think about it, you'd be good at it," he suggested.

He didn't wait for Hardy's answer but trudged back to the room he'd come from. Hardy stood there, stupefied and befuddled. He thrust his hands into his pockets and kicked at a piece of imaginary dust. A job offer was the last he'd expected on this day.

"What did you do to that woman, Hardy?"

The sharp words made him spin around. Rebecca Irvine glared up at him, her jaw set into a hard line.

"Sorry?" Hardy frowned at her disgusted face.

"You heard me. I watched you giving your statement. Or at least part of it. I had to leave because I couldn't listen to it any longer. It sickens me to think you would have held that poor woman captive and made her pay for your mistakes," she spat.

Hardy was stunned. His mouth gaped open as he was unable to formulate a proper reply. It took him all restraint he had not to scream at her.

"I did no such thing," he managed eventually. Irvine's response was a derisive snort.

"She came to me for help," Hardy continued quietly. "She claimed she feared the man she had led on to murder a child. She is not a poor woman, she is a criminal who did not only lie and cover up a heinous crime but played a big role in its execution. If anyone deserves your empathy and compassion it's the families of the murdered girls, but not the woman who helped destroy their lives."

Irvine scoffed. "You used her, like you used Tess and this Ellie Miller person-"

"Leave Miller out of this," Hardy barked. Bringing up his former DS had been a mistake. Hardy was losing grip on his temper at lightning speed. He closed the distance between them and growled, "If you ever imply again I did anything improper with Ellie Miller, or that anything happening between us was out of bounds, I swear I will come after you and make you pay for it."

Irvine recoiled from his furious words but wasn't done yet. "Tess told me all about you and Miller. She knows you better than you do. And she's been in her position. You let her do the work and now reap the rewards. Miller was just lucky you didn't fuck it up again. You'd have taken her down like you took down Tess."

Hardy snapped. "Did she also tell you it was her who lost the bloody pendant? Because she and Dave couldn't keep it in their pants and left it behind in the car? She took herself down, Irvine, and with her the whole god-damn case," he shouted, losing himself in a deep-seated rage which boiled through him.

Irvine's face twitched, taken aback by his outburst. "You're lying," she said weakly.

Hardy let out a wheezy pained laugh. "Believe me, I wish I was."

Irvine stared at him with wide eyes. Silence fell and nobody moved.

Hardy's rage dissipated as fast as it had come on and was replaced by sudden weariness. Breathless he slumped against the wall. He needed to leave this place behind before it could kill him all over. He pushed off the rough surface and without saying anything else hurried past a stunned Irvine.

The warm afternoon sun welcomed him once he'd exited the building. He bathed in the light, drawing strength from the golden rays. A smile brightened up his hardened features when he remembered what awaited him in the place he was still learning to call home. His heart skipped a beat, riled up by the blissful anxiety the thought provoked. It had been years since he could blame happiness for setting off his bum ticker. For once Hardy welcomed the stuttering beat in his chest. It was swiftly corralled in by the little box which had given him a chance to have another movie night with his daughter.

A bounce in his step, he left the constabulary behind. He'd done his part. Time to move on.


	14. Chapter 13 - Fixed

**A/N:** As promised here is the next chapter. For those who got the update with this chapter – I posted another the day before, just in case you are confused ;) (which you might be anyway as it's been ages since I updated this story). Hope you enjoy. 6 more days before Series 3 starts!

* * *

 **Chapter 13 - Fixed**

"Daisy? Darlin', wake up. The movie's over."

Her father's soft Scottish lilt wasn't stern enough to convince her to open her eyes. Quite on the contrary. It made her want to snuggle against his warm body and curl up into a ball like she used to as a child. He carefully freed his trapped arm from under her shoulders.

"Please, darlin', you have to wake up. We have to get you home," he insisted.

"Why can't I stay here?" she mumbled sleepily.

Sudden tension in his body pushed his bony elbow into her rib cage, ruining her comfortable spot at his side.

"You would want that? To stay over?"

The insecurity in his voice pained her. Guilt over her own actions this past year bubbled up while she watched him fidget with a spec of imaginary dust on his trousers.

"Not that I have a problem with you staying. It'd be nice. Don't have a room though. You could have my bed, I guess. Would need new sheets. And there aren't enough pillows. Would you want to stay for breakfast? I'm not sure if I have anything you'd like to eat," he babbled along nervously.

She sat up and stretched. "Dad, you're rambling," she asserted with a yawn.

"Sorry," he murmured, his ears turning red.

It surprised her how easily she made him feel embarrassed these days.

"I can take the sofa, Dad. You need your beauty sleep in a proper bed," she stated, unfazed by his fretting over the lack of extra sleeping accommodations.

His horrified expression made her laugh which promptly drove a lovely pink hue on his pale cheeks.

He dragged his hands down his face. "Maybe this is not a good idea," he muttered under his breath.

Distress and sadness warred on his features, leaving behind a deep furrow on his forehead and a pit of sorrow in Daisy's stomach. They still had a long way to go. She put her hand on his arm and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Dad, it's fine. I'll sleep wherever you want me to. I would love to stay. You could make breakfast tomorrow, and I'll make you tea, like we used to." She put all the encouragement she could into her words.

It was moments like this when she wondered what had happened to him in the year they hadn't spoken. Her heart ached when he retreated into his shell, shying away from doing normal things with her. He seemed overwhelmed and too scared by the task of human interaction, and all she wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything was okay.

He searched her face, suspicious like a wounded animal, and his eyes betrayed his disbelief. He must have found something to reassure him though, because his tight lips relaxed into a smile, turning him back into the father she remembered. He nodded as if to affirm to himself he'd made the right assessment, blinked a few times, and then looked her straight in the eye.

"I think I'd like that."

Daisy beamed. "Great. We need to let Mum know. Could you call her?"

His reaction wasn't what she would have expected. One would think she had asked him to jump into a snake pit. The color drained from his face and he squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa.

"Daisy, she's not going to like hearing it from me, you know," he argued hesitantly.

"Oh, come on, Dad. She's not that bad. She's got nothing against us spending time together," she countered.

He glared at her and then growled, "I'm not so sure about that."

He took a deep breath, and getting up, he sighed, "Fine. I'll call her."

His discomfort was obvious. Daisy couldn't help but think him cheating on her mother ultimately would always leave him ill-at-ease when he interacted with her.

"Why don't you wait here, all right?"

He stalked off to the kitchen, leaving the door ajar. It didn't take long until his raised voice echoed down the hallway. The temptation to eavesdrop was too big. Daisy tiptoed over and hid next to the cracked door. She peered inside the small kitchen, listening in to a conversation she wasn't meant to hear.

He was pacing up and down, one hand on his hip.

"... wasn't planned. It got late and she's tired." He rolled his eyes at her answer.

"No. She suggested it. I'm not putting any ideas in her head. I would never-"

She must have cut him off. Pressing his lips to a thin line, he fell silent and ceased to pace about.

"Tess, I can't drive her home. You know that."

He grabbed the back of a chair and kneaded the wood until his knuckles turned white. His overt exasperation with her mother made her regret she had asked him to call.

He shook his head. "No, it's not fixed. I've told you before. That's not how it works."

Daisy frowned. What did he mean by _'it's not fixed'_? He couldn't possibly be talking about his heart condition. Wasn't the whole idea about getting the pacemaker that it would be taken care of? Nagging fear for her father's well-being fought with anger at him for hiding more secrets from her. He'd have to answer her later.

His head turned red in response to whatever it was her mother was throwing at him.

"Really? You wanna talk about that now? I don't see how me not telling you about my heart condition when we were still married is in any way relevant to the current situation of me not being able to drive our daughter around."

Scathing sarcasm dripped from his words. He resumed pacing while listening to what she had to say. Daisy watched him work himself up and was close to taking the phone away from him. What held her back was the rare opportunity to witness firsthand what was going on between her parents.

Her father propped the phone under his ear and fumbled through his pockets, pulling out a packet with pills. He popped two out and washed them down with some water.

"Oh, so you don't appreciate my sarcasm? You know what I don't appreciate? Your inability to comprehend I'm not doing this to spite you but because I'm concerned about our daughter's safety," he shouted, picking up steam while circling the kitchen table.

"Once again, I can't drive a car because my arrhythmia is not well controlled enough yet. There is a real risk to have a random attack which could make me pass out while I'm driving. What is so difficult about that concept?"

He stopped abruptly to lean on the back of the chair again. His face had grown a shade paler, and his heaving breaths worried Daisy. He tugged on his tie and then dropped his hand to rub his chest.

"No, the bloody pacemaker doesn't fix it. Nothing can fix it," he spat, frustration and bitterness deepening his voice.

He slumped down on the chair he'd been holding onto. There was a moment of silence where he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he continued, his anger had dissipated, replaced by a quiet resignation.

"All it does, Tess, is to keep me alive when my heart goes to shit, nothing else. It's not a magic fix. It doesn't make the disease go away and it can't heal the damage done."

His shoulders caved in and whatever tension had kept him upright was leaving his body quickly. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his palms. Time ticked by, measured by his deep breaths. Eventually, he moved his hands up to rake his fingers through his shaggy hair, sniffing away the tears he'd been hiding.

Daisy leaned back against the wall, crying. She'd gotten it all wrong. He'd said he was fine now. That answer alone should have made her suspicious. She should have known better than to trust him to tell her the full truth. She scrubbed away her tears and peeked into the kitchen again.

He hadn't moved from where he sat crumpled in on himself. The phone pressed against his ear, he shook his head slowly. He squeezed his eyes shut and pleaded tiredly,

"Can't you pick her up if you are so dead set on not having her stay over?"

After listening for a moment, he added, "Fine. If that's what you want. I'll come with her though. I'm not putting her in a taxi all by herself."

He snorted at her response. "No, Tess. I don't have the money for it but I'll do it for her."

He rubbed his chest again and a twitch ran over his jaw. He seemed to struggle for air and then slumped forward a little, catching himself on the table. His eyes glazed over for a moment, then he jerked. Pain flickered over his ashen face.

Daisy covered her mouth to stifle a gasping cry. The memory of their meeting in the park was fresh in her mind. It scared her to see him like that. A fiery ball of anger at her mother heated her stomach. Why could she not give him a break?

"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath. Desperation chiseled deep lines onto his forehead and his eyes shone with now obvious tears.

"Tess, please be reasonable," he begged. "I'm trying very hard to do my part in supporting her. I can't work. It's not an excuse. I want to, but they won't clear me yet."

He fell silent again, listening to the voice on the other side. Suddenly his mouth gaped open and he looked utterly hurt. His voice was trembling when he replied, "I didn't think you could stoop that low, but I guess I was wrong. How could you even say that? After you've seen me in hospital? I nearly died because of this and you have the guts to accuse me of faking it so I can get out of paying child maintenance?"

Daisy was as shocked as her father. How could her mother say such a thing? Didn't matter if he had cheated on her and she had all right to be hurt and angry, but this accusation seemed rather cruel.

He rubbed his eyes and the ghostly dark circles around them, looking even paler now. She'd rarely seen him this worn out and it worried her.

"Please, Tess. I've had a really long day today, giving all the statements about the case. I'm exhausted and haven't been feeling well. Let's call it a day," he implored his former wife to show mercy.

Daisy couldn't stand it any longer. She barged into the kitchen, snatched the phone away from her dumbstruck father, and yelled at her mother.

"How can you be so mean?" Daisy didn't give her mother a chance to reply. Driven by a smoldering fury, she steamrollered ahead, "What's your problem with me staying here overnight? It's not like I'm moving in. You'd rather make him drag himself out in the middle of the night when he can barely keep himself upright. I'm telling you now, I'm not going. If you want me so badly, then come and get me."

She hung up the phone and tossed it on the table.

"Daisy...," he started, his eyes wide with amazement.

"No, don't say a word," she interjected. "I heard everything. You look awful and I'm taking you to bed now. No discussion," she announced and dragged him to his feet. He was wobblier than she would have thought, and they nearly fell over. She caught herself on the table and he managed to grab a chair.

"'M sorry, darlin'," he muttered.

"What are you sorry for? That you're ill and aren't doing well? That you had a hard day and are exhausted? That your ex-wife treated you like shit and it made you feel bad? I don't think any of those things are reasons to be sorry for," she argued poignantly.

He shook his head, mumbling something about using foul language, and straightened himself up. "No, Daisy. That's not it. I'm sorry you had to listen to this. There are many things we need to talk about, things I should have told you a long time ago." He smiled shyly and rubbed his eyes again.

"Dad, it's okay. I'm sorry I made you call her. I know do, but not now. You're obviously not in any shape to have another exhausting conversation. It's time to rest. I'm here, I'm not going away, I promise."

His moist eyes took her in silently. Right before his scrutinizing gaze became too much to bear, he pulled her into a tight hug. "I don't deserve you," he whispered into her hair.

"Horseshit, of course you do. You're my Dad," she said, her words muffled against his chest. "And if you dare ruining my favorite shirt because you're crying on it, I'm not going to make you tea in the morning ever again," she threatened meekly.

He placed a kiss on her hair and let her out of his arms. "What am I gonna say about that then?"

He pointed to the stains of her tears on his shirt. He grinned. She whacked him on the arm. "You're going to bed. You're getting too cheeky."

A brief argument about who was taking the bed later, Daisy tucked a blanket around her softly snoring father. He had won and was stretched out on the sofa bed, asleep within minutes after lying down. She felt for his pulse as Emily Abbott had taught her. The steady tap against her fingertips filled her with relief. The pacemaker was doing its job. She brushed his bangs out of his face and let her eyes wander over his body. He was still too skinny and tired all the time, but he looked lighter, less burdened than when she had met him again for the first time in over a year. She pecked a kiss on his forehead.

"Good night, Dad. I love you, always," she whispered into his ear. His lips curled up in his sleep, and Daisy smiled when she looked back at him while turning off the lights. They were going to be okay, even if it took a while. It was the last thing going through her mind before she fell asleep in his bed, surrounded by her father's comforting smell which reminded her of her childhood and feeling utterly safe and sound.

* * *

"Daisy? Darlin', wake up. Breakfast is ready."

She pulled the blanket over her face and squeezed her eyes shut. "Mum, I'm not getting up, it's too early," she mumbled drowsily and curled up in the warmth.

"I'm not your mother," a growly Scottish voice intruded into her foggy mind.

No, indeed, he wasn't her mother. It had been such a long time since she'd woken to the sound of her father's voice. The realization how much she'd missed it hit her hard, driving away any lingering sleepiness. She peeked out from under the blanket. There he was, looking down at her in all his usual grumpiness. A scowl creased up his forehead and he had his hands firmly planted on his hips. To her surprise, he wasn't wearing a suit but a pair of jeans and a checkered shirt.

Yawning, she stretched and pulled the blanket off her bare legs. Her father made a funny noise, and she remembered she wasn't wearing anything but her underpants and a tank top. Daisy caught a glimpse of his bright red face before he quickly turned around. He looked like he was going to faint, clearly mortified at the sight of his half-naked teenage daughter. She grinned and draped the blanket over her exposed body.

He cleared his voice. "I'm… I'll be in the kitchen. There's a towel in the bathroom."

He hurried out of the room, mumbling something about giving her privacy and marveling how grown up she was. She had no doubt the latter wasn't meant for her ears. She felt bad for him. He had missed the last year of her life where she had changed so much. So had he.

She took a quick shower, got dressed, and followed him into the kitchen. It was simple but lovely. He had made an effort to set the table properly, including a bouquet of beautiful peonies and snap dragons and small bowl with fresh scones. He must have gotten up early and gone out for those. He shot her a sideways glance and rubbed the back of his head.

"I wasn't sure if you still like the same things for breakfast, so I got stuff to choose from."

He smiled awkwardly, insecurity written all over his face. Yet again, Daisy felt a pang of sadness over how hard this seemed to be for him, something he used to do for her without any effort every day of her life. She stepped up to him and placed a shy kiss on his cheek. His eyes widened with surprise and a happy sparkle looked back at her.

"Dad, this is so nice. Thanks," she said, plopping down on a chair.

She expected him to do the same, but instead he went to the counter to retrieve a small box. His back was turned toward her and he moved to make sure she saw what he was doing. Daisy watched him keenly while he took out one pill after the other.

"I know you eavesdropped on me talking to your mother last night," he began, hesitation ringing in his words. He stopped her protest with a wave of his hand. "Please, darlin', let me talk. You must have overheard what I told your mother about my heart problem. You've met my doctor and you've witnessed me being unwell."

Daisy crossed her arms. "So?" she asked defiantly.

His shoulders tensed. He still wasn't facing her. "I fear you might have misunderstood a few things and I don't want that. Not any more. I've been hiding this too long from you. You deserve better than being told half-truths and lies."

He turned around, holding out a handful of pills. He placed them carefully next to his plate. Daisy stared at the tiny mound. There were way too many. _'It's not fixed'_ \- his words rang in her ears and her eyes stung. He sat down, pulling his chair closer to her.

"Daisy, look at me, please," he said gently. When she didn't, he reached over and wiped some tears from her cheeks. "I'm truly sorry, darlin', for never telling you about my heart condition."

"You got the pacemaker, but you told Mum it's not fixed. Whatever happened to _'no more broken heart'_? Are you going to die?" she blurted out, unable to control her emotions any longer. This was so unfair. She wanted him back in her life.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No. Not today, not tomorrow. But I'm not going to lie to you. My heart is not healthy and it never will be again. It's okay right now, but we don't know for how long. The pacemaker is doing its job. It's going to keep me around for much longer than a lot of people probably would like."

She hit him and he flinched away from her. "Don't say that. Never ever make a joke about that ever again!" she shouted, losing whatever control she had. How could he be like that? Knowing there had been more than one occasion when he'd nearly died. She was trembling from all the pent-up anger at him and life, from the fear of losing him, and from the frustration about not being told the truth for so long.

He reluctantly touched her arm. "Darlin', please calm down. I'm fine."

"How can you even make such a statement?" She snatched a handful of pills and threw it at him. "What are those then? Candy?"

She jumped up and was about to storm out of the kitchen when he caught her wrist. She tried to wriggle free from his iron grip. He pulled her closer until his arms engulfed her. She fought him, but he only held onto her more tightly. He was going to die; the thought was pervasive and nothing else had room in her head. She wanted to run and hide so badly, but he didn't let her.

His soft voice soothed her like a child when he continued to explain, talking into her hair, "As I told your mother last night, it can't be fixed. But it can be made better. The medications help to control the arrhythmia and the heart failure. It's working for the heart failure and more or less for the arrhythmia. And the pacemaker does the rest. I'm still recovering but I haven't felt better in months. I'm not lying to you. I promise."

His sincerity struck the right chord with her. Her face was buried into his shirt, and with one ear on his chest, she listened to his steady heartbeat.

"It's so scary, Dad," she whispered.

"I know, darlin', I know," he sighed.

The tone of his words made her look up. He stared blankly ahead, fear gleaming in his hazel eyes. Then he blinked and it was gone. He let her go, a hand lingering on her shoulder. Scratching his eyebrow, his gaze trailed over the mess she had made with the pills. Embarrassment over her loss of control heated up her cheeks. She stooped down to pick them up.

"Let me help you with this," she said. While she collected one after the other, she asked him the name of the medication and what it was for, how many he needed to take, and when. By the time they had all found their way back to the table, heaped up in a neat pile, they were not as scary any more.

She made him sit down and put the kettle on. She rummaged through the cabinet of the small kitchen to search for decaf tea and the perfect cups. They both didn't say anything until she placed a steaming mug in front of him. He was crying silently.

"Dad?" She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked up, wiping clumsily at his tears.

"'M sorry, darlin'. It's just that…," he hesitated and dragged his hands down his face. "It's just that I thought I would never get to do this again." His voice broke.

It was her turn to wrap her arms around him. She stood in the kitchen, cradling her crying father against her chest. Rubbing his back, she reassured him everything would be all right and urged him not to be scared until he calmed.

He took in a deep breath and moved away from her. Despite all the tears, his face lit up with that smile which was so uniquely his. Crinkles budded around his puffy eyes, and suddenly she knew they were going to be all right. _He_ was going to be all right. Even if it took some time, but he would be.

When Daisy left, after they had set off the fire alarm with burning toast and porridge like they used to, she squinted into the golden sun light. A broad grin took hold over her face, and forgetting about any possible witnesses, she skipped down the road like a little girl. She had her father back and nothing could take him away again.


End file.
